


Reckoning

by UnbiddenRhythm



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: A blend of OG and Remake Canons, Angst, Corporate Espionage, Espionage, F/M, Gen, Inspire! Reeve, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnbiddenRhythm/pseuds/UnbiddenRhythm
Summary: Reeve Tuesti, embroiled in affairs rapidly spiraling beyond his control, worries about who to serve and who to trust. His assistant is beginning to worry the same.Chapter 6: Secrets and SacrificesAfter disaster strikes AVALANCHE, Reeve acts on his own plans.
Relationships: Reeve Tuesti & Reeve Tuesti's Assistant
Comments: 21
Kudos: 51





	1. After the Assassination

**Author's Note:**

> This project is a labor of love, and I’m excited to share with all of you. I really wanted to explore multiple points of view and the gray morality of many of these characters. This fic is more than half finished, so I'm still chipping away, but I'll be updating weekly from here on out. Enjoy reading!
> 
> Credit to wombywoo for the gorgeous art piece at the end of CHP 1. I commissioned this a while ago when the first chapter was still an early draft, and love how it turned out! It's been quite motivating to help me finish. Check out womby's work if you can!
> 
> The name "Rita" is derived from "Reeve Tuesti's Assistant." "Spencer" is credited to AppleSharon, for the meaning of "steward."
> 
> Please comment/share your thoughts!

_December 15, [_ _ν_ _]–_ _εγλ_ _0007_

Shortly before midnight on the fifth day of catastrophe, Reeve Tuesti finally fell asleep on the fine leather couch in his office.

He would stay asleep for just under two hours, before waking to the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins at the shrill ping of a message from Tseng. It read: _The President is dead._ Followed by, _Come upstairs._ And so, Reeve would begin his sixth day of catastrophe and little sleep ushering the reign of Rufus Shinra.

For now, however, Reeve remained sleeping, heeding the advice of his devoted assistant, whose well-meaning entreaties he never could resist for long.

* * *

Bleeding. Her feet were bleeding.

Rita winced, peeling her gray heels from blistered, raw skin. A warm bucket of water waited. She dipped her feet in, hissing at the water's bite until she felt relief. Sighing, Rita collapsed backward in the lounging chair and glanced at her oven clock.

12:02 AM.

...Six days. Six days since the bombing of the Sector 1 Reactor—and what a wake-up call that had been too, the detonation near enough to rattle her window panes. As soon as she'd registered the blast Rita made to move, grabbing her shoes and heading to Headquarters, where she knew she'd be needed.

She'd not taken off her shoes since.

The Sector 1 reactor exploded, and followed by the reactor in Sector 5 just days later. And then, there was Sector 7...

In the midst of the chaos, just after they began clean-up of the Sector 5 bombing, Director Tuesti had pulled his personal assistant aside in his office. His face looked so pale and gaunt Rita worried he was sick.

_"This is only for you to know," he whispered. Her heart pounded in anxious beat. "I need to you to draft a damage assessment. Calculate all potential losses if Sector 7 is destroyed."_

_Rita blanched. "But, Sector 7 hasn't been—" Reeve held up his hand._

_"The President," his tone sounded low, strained, "wants to drop the plate to stop AVALANCHE."_

_Horrified, her jaw fell agape. People lived_ on _the plate. They lived_ below _it. Dropping it would kill them_ all _. "I argued against it,_ _” Reeve continued despite Rita’s expression, “but the President made up his mind." Etched in Reeve's face, Rita saw nothing but pain and guilt._

She didn't blame Reeve. Rita knew just how hard he had lobbied against the plan—and how much it was likely still eating at him even now, from the inside out.

So she didn't argue with him, or protest his request. Instead, she got to work writing the damage assessment, forecasting her projections in the future tense with an eerie sense of detachment. And when Rita received his call confirming the plate's fall a mere hours after that conversation, only then did she begin to write in present: _Projections indicate that the total damage_ ~~would~~ _amount **s** to 10 billion gil. Rebuilding the entirety of Sector 7 ~~would~~ will cost nearly 15-20 billion gil..._

Anger surged in Rita as she wrote. She'd not spare a keystroke totaling the cost of lost lives—not because _she_ didn't care, but because she knew full well that the _President_ didn't. In fact, doing so would only incite wrath and consternation upon Reeve—Rita refused to do that to him. She already worried enough.

...The fear she felt when she heard Reeve openly castigate their employer...

 _Beyond the pale._ That was Reeve’s true assessment of ShinRa's plan to drop the plate. And Rita _agreed_. But a President willing to murder 50,000 would have no qualms about offing an errant Executive. Rita hoped Reeve didn't become reckless.

She pondered his words to her again after his Executive board meeting, which had gone disastrously by all accounts—the President refused to rebuild Sector 7. _"I have to do something,_ " he'd said.

In turn, Rita promised she supported him. And she _did._ But that didn't keep emotion from blanketing her with cold dread. Seditious thinking alone could ruin them—if anyone else in the Company overheard Reeve's sentiments...

She honestly didn't know what she would do, if something happened to Reeve. If ShinRa _did something_ to Reeve.

Rita looked back at the clock. 12:13 AM.

Tiredness steeped into her bones. The little sleep she'd caught over the five days of chaos had been catnaps on couches—a light doze in the staff break room, a secluded booth in the rec center, even a short stint on Director Tuesti's office sofa (if only to model to the man it was, in fact, an option he could exercise at will).

And now, Rita realized she didn't even have the strength to stand, to change out of her gray suit or go to bed. Lounging her head back, feet still soaking in warm water, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Shrill ringing startled her, her phone blaring her awake. In her shock she splashed the water her pruny feet still soaked in across the carpet. Cursing, Rita looked with bleary eyes at the oven clock.

3:23 AM.

...Who on Gaia was calling? Panicked, fearing it was Reeve, Rita grabbed her phone.

Across the screen bold letters illuminated: _Papa._

Just as concerning as a call from the Director. Rita answered with a frantic, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing with me, I can assure you," her grandfather's voice sounded warm if worn.

"What's going on? Did something happen?"

"The President's been assassinated."

Stunned, silent, Rita's mind raced. She'd left the ShinRa building mere hours ago, and from all indications President Shinra was alive and well. Horror-struck, she blurted, "Are the other Executives okay!?"

"Your boss is just fine. As are the others, but I don’t you care about them as much," even now, her grandfather found a way to tease. Still, Rita exhaled her worried breath.

“And you’re okay, too?”

“I’m just the Mayor,” Papa demurred, "I’m quite all right. AVALANCHE's only target tonight was the President."

This statement hung thick in the air. Rita felt numb. _AVALANCHE_. The group responsible for her hellish week, starting with the Sector 1 Reactor bombing.

But then...it was the _President_ who had escalated and dropped the plate. Could Rita really blame AVALANCHE for striking back? _Head of the snake_ , after all...

She pinched the bridge of her nose, head aching from her lack of sleep.

"Are you still there, Mouse?"

"I'm here, Papa," Rita smiled at her grandfather's endearment. "Thank you for letting me know. I'm getting ready to go in now. Are you still at your office?"

"Yes." There was a muffled sound, as he were stifling a yawn. "And I expect to be here for a while still. But I wanted to tell you the news before I passed out on the couch."

"Thank you. Should I come see you when I get in?

"No, no, that won't be necessary—and I'll be in no state. But we're still on for lunch, right Mouse?

"Of course, Papa. I'll see you then."

She wanted to get in as soon as possible, so Rita rushed to shower and dress, bandaging her feet as best she could. She pulled on her athletic trainers in lieu of high heels—she'd take the dress code slip over shoes that would make her ache. She grabbed her backpack and helmet and headed out into the crisp air toward the garage, where her scooter waited.

The sun would not rise over Midgar for a few hours yet, but the exhaust from the mako reactors illuminated Rita’s path with emerald light as efficiently as the streetlamps. The sound of the vents’ churning vapor exhaust resounded over the rushing wind in her ears. Despite the hour, the city teemed with life, cars scuttling along the highway, pedestrians winding their ways back to the undercity after overnight shifts on the plates above. Or in some cases, slum dwellers winding their way up to the surface, ready to start their day making the lives of those above the plate more pleasant than those below it. These people didn’t yet know their President had died. She knew that quite a few would celebrate such knowledge. But ShinRa’s vice grip on the hearts, minds, and matters of Midgar meant that many too would mourn the loss of their _Dear Leader._

Rita didn’t like to dwell on such thoughts.

Each pedestrian and driver she passed eyed her warily. She couldn't blame them. For nearly a week, everyone had been on edge. Surviving terror.

Yet, Rita knew, some of that terror was _state inflicted_. That terrified her most.

She arrived in Sector 0 in record time, storing her scooter and helmet in the employee lot before starting toward headquarters. As she rounded the corner she spied something that stopped her dead in her tracks—

It was a cat.

Only...only it _wasn't_ a cat. It couldn't possibly be. For one, it stood on two legs. And it wore a red cape, with white gloves. And atop its head sat a crown.

...She couldn't possibly be seeing this, surely. She blinked hard. _Am I dreaming?_ — _No_ , her grandfather clearly had awaken her with his phone call...

Rita felt an eerie prickling along the back of her neck. Her mind flitted backwards in time, to when she was a child sitting eagerly in her grandfather’s library, with a book of Fae stories about a cat that walked upright and could steal your soul.

...it hadn't noticed Rita. But it seemed to be creeping closely along the wall, until finally slinking into the cover of darkness ahead.

So struck by the sight, part of Rita yearned to follow. The other part wanted to run, turn and get inside Headquarters as fast as possible.

She chose the latter option.

Once inside, she exhaled shakily. No one was in the lobby at this hour and Rita felt grateful. That meant there was no one to see her fear—not that anyone would believe her if she told them about the sight she’d witnessed. She shook her head, willing herself to forget the image of the cat prowling on its hind legs. Fae stories weren't _real._ She was _tired_ — _that's_ all this was.

She hurried to her locker to freshen up. Spying herself in the mirror, she groaned. Her eyes looked red with exhaustion, dark circles underlining them. She splashed cold water on her face and pulled out her eye drops and make-up kit, hoping she could make herself look more presentable, or at least awake. She resolved to stop by the café. Rita knew if she felt this terribly, the Director probably felt _worse_.

If there were anything for Rita to feel grateful for at this hour of the morning, this eerie, unsettling, murderous morning, it was the presence of Ernie and Cris behind the café counter. Having spent enough overnighters with Reeve to come to know the night baristas personally, they started prepping two cups when they spied Rita's approach.

"Rough week," Ernie said in his gravely voice.

"Hasn't even been a full week, yet," Rita sighed as she swiped her employee card at the kiosk.

"Keep your chin up," Ernie handed her the traveler with her two steaming cups. He pointed to one of the cups.

"And mind the Director," Cris chimed in, with a pitying smile. "That'll be his second cup this morning." Rita nodded her profuse thanks. Second cup? That meant he'd been awake for a bit...but he hadn't called her to Headquarters, she realized with a frown.

Rita hurried to the 63rd floor, hoping against reason that she would find the Director somehow miraculously back asleep on his couch when she arrived. What she encountered as she approached the door was far different than she hoped. 

"I look forward to a productive working relationship, Director," she heard as from out of Reeve's office, in his pristine white suit, sauntered Rufus Shinra and his dog.

Rita rocked backwards, managing to stem the spill of coffee in the traveler and not collide with the new President.

Reeve emerged from the office behind Rufus, eyes widening in shock at seeing Rita. Rufus eyed her with passing interest, and she bowed. Running through a quick mental checklist of her protocol for interacting with the Executives, Rita decided to gamble by saying, "Pardon me, Mister _President_."

Rufus smirked handsomely, and Rita felt satisfied she'd made the right calculation. Without remarking on her presence, he sauntered away with his blood-eyed hound in tow.

Reeve stared at Rita. "How on Gaia did you know?"

"The Mayor called." Rita turned to hand him his coffee as she said, "A perk of being his granddaughter."

"I should have realized." He took a grateful sip. "Please tell me you were at least able to get some rest?"

"I did, sir, thank you." Rita smiled at him. "And you?"

He tried to smile back, but it looked more like a grimace. "I actually did take your advice and slept on the couch. At least until I got the call..." He trailed off. In the silence that followed they moved into the privacy of Reeve's office.

Every part of him looked exhausted, run down. Rita couldn’t keep from asking, "When was that sir?"

"Not too long after it happened, just before two."

Rita's nostrils flared. So he'd been awake for nearly two hours now... "You didn't call me."

He looked at her, nakedly exasperated by this unending argument. "You needed to rest."

" _Not_ any more than you, Director. If you're here, I'm here."

"I've told you before"—Reeve pinched the bridge of his nose—"you well-rested is more valuable than both of us half-rested."

"Sir, in terms of 'valuable'—at least to the Company— _you_ being well-rested is the _only_ thing that counts." Rita clucked her tongue. "And you already _barely_ do that."

"Seems like whenever I do, things fall apart." Reeve stifled a yawn, and she spared him a pitying glance.

"This week has been...busier than usual."

He snorted. "Quite the understatement, Ms. Spencer." He rubbed his eyes, gaze wandering aimlessly over the documents scattered on his desk. Rita's curiosity felt too strong.

"Director, if I may—why did the President visit you this morning?"

Reeve exhaled a shaky breath. "...It's not anything you need to worry about."

"Well, _that's_ not true," Rita countered. "You don't look well, sir. That's something I worry about very much."

This time his smile shone through. "Thank you, Ms. Spencer. I appreciate your concern." He let his gaze linger for a moment to say, "The new President wanted my help on a particular project." Then he averted his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't divulge any more information on the subject."

"I understand, sir. But still, how can I help you?

As if sensing this was a topic on which she would not relent Reeve sighed and looked across his desk. Atop a stack of papers sat a thick black folder. Reeve grabbed it and passed it to Rita. "This is for Tseng. Would you be able to deliver it for me? I have some…other things I need to attend to in the meantime."

With only the barest hesitation Rita grasped the folder with her free hand. Delivering items to the Department of Administrative Research wasn't her favorite task…but it was one she could manage well enough without broadcasting her fear. Certainly not when Reeve looked so run down.

"Absolutely. Anything else I can help you with today?"

"I'd love to get your updated projections for clearing up the reactor explosions. And we need _some_ hazard clean-up in Sector 7—could you pull together the team?"

"Of course, Director."

Reeve slumped down in his chair, taking a long sip of coffee. His eyes looked bleary, the lines in his forehead looked pronounced. His weariness felt palpable.

Before Rita could stop herself she placed her hand on his shoulder, hoping to provide any kind of comfort. He didn't push away; indeed, the faintest smile graced his face. Without another word, she took her coffee and the black folder and left to see the Head of the Turks.

* * *

She couldn't say she'd ever feel used to the descent to the basement. Headquarters already felt oppressive with its dark lighting and mostly ebony interior, save for the eerie artificial blue lighting that helped the few sparse plants in Midgar survive in such an inhospitable environment.

But the basement of Headquarters had its own foreboding air, one that stifled Rita. It didn’t help that Scarlet stalked its corridors, with her array of death machines that supplied the Company’s armed forces, and her inexhaustible fount of petty rage she enjoyed directing at meek underlings. Or perhaps because the Turks themselves, despite their pristine suits and ties, were self-contained death machines. Everyone in the company knew not to cross the Department of Administrative Research. The quicker Rita finished this task, the better.

Yet, though she knew better than to ask, she couldn’t help wonder what _exactly_ Reeve did for the Company's Black Ops group. Or why the new President himself was making trips to Reeve's office. She didn’t remember Rufus’ father ever doing that.

Rita couldn't entertain this train of thought for long, because as she stepped off the lift into the basement corridor, she glimpsed something that stopped her dead: slinking around the corner, a black tail and _a red cape_.

She blinked hard, then rushed forward—but as she peered around the corner there was nothing save an empty hallway. And certainly no upright-walking cats.

Rita took a long swig of her coffee. Tiredness getting the better of her, she mused. Yes, had to be that.

She turned toward the door of "General Affairs: Auditing", but she hesitated a fraction before knocking. She heard a muffled, "Come in," from the other side.

As she crossed the threshold, Tseng rose from his seat to greet her, adjusting his fine black tie and leather gloves. "Ms. Spencer," he outstretched his hand and nodded curtly as Rita handed him the thick file. "Thank you." He bowed cordially, as was his custom when she delivered files, and that should have been the end of their interaction.

Should have been.

But Rita stalled. She felt unsettled—by the sight of the cat, twice now, in addition to the murder of the President. She could tell herself it was tiredness, but would that really satisfy?

Tseng's eyes met hers. He looked curious, even wary, at her hesitance. The thought of it—a waifish administrative assistant making _a Turk_ wary—almost made her laugh. Then the scene played itself out in her head—no doubt the man would think her _insane_ if she mentioned she saw a cat with a crown lurking about. But would it really be wise of her to pretend that nothing was amiss, at all?

Could she live with herself if she missed an obvious warning sign?

"Ms. Spencer?"

"The attack on the President last night"—there was no stopping now—"are any of the other Executives at risk?"

Tseng's eyes narrowed the barest fraction as he studied her. "At this time, we don't have any reason to believe anyone else is in danger—though, of course, we've increased security." His eyes roamed up and down. "You need not fear for Director Tuesti."

Rita's cheeks grew hot. It dawned on her that perhaps Tseng would take offense to the implication his team would not be sufficient in guarding against future attacks, that they’d already failed in some way. "I didn't mean—it's just that, with everything that's happened the past few days, I wasn't sure if _I_ should be more...alert. Of potential dangers or—or assassins." The last part sounded strange, almost unreal to Rita. She suddenly felt very foolish for thinking what looked like a stuffed cat could be murderous. Oh, of course Tseng would find her preoccupation immature…

But Tseng surprised Rita. "Your loyalty is an admirable quality, Ms. Spencer. And it's true we can't be too careful." A hint of a catlike smile crossed his face. "Actually, I have a proposal for you."

"A proposal?"

"You spend a considerable amount of time with Director Tuesti. It certainly wouldn't hurt for you to have some form of training."

"Training?"

"In combat."

Rita's heart skipped. This…this was not what she'd envisioned.

"Oh?"

"Allow me to set a session with one of my subordinates. You could begin as early as this evening."

Rita gaped. She couldn't help but feel this was...well, _ridiculous_. "You think _I_ would be able to actually prevent an attack on the Director?"

"With proper training"—Tseng's voice sounded knife-sharp—"you could do enough to buy time for reinforcements to arrive." He quirked his brow. "And who knows. I've seen smaller than you take down much larger foes with ease. Perhaps you'll take to it. Are you interested, or not?"

And though Rita hesitated, it was only for a moment. "Yes. I am." If it was a matter of keeping Reeve safe, Rita would do anything.

Tseng's lips curved upward, ghost of a smile gracing his face. "Excellent. I'll arrange a session for this evening. We'll be in contact." He bowed to her again. "Always a pleasure, Ms. Spencer."

Rita walked away feeling dizzied by the turn of the events. She felt so distracted, she didn't fully register that Tseng had crossed to his phone to make an eager call.

* * *

Rita didn't have time to mull on her conversation with Tseng. The Director had assigned her tasks. She moved quickly, visiting the 30th floor to update the UrbDev teams monitoring the ongoing clean-up of all the areas that had been damaged in the past week.

She poured herself into the work, so focused that it was only when Cherie, the floor assistant, gave her a nudge and pointed to the clock that Rita realized she was late for lunch. She scurried to the 62nd floor to find her grandfather’s office still closed and the archive empty—unexpected, but Rita could wait a few minutes. She busied herself by glancing over the many volumes of records stacked in the archive. Even though the company had moved to digital support long ago, she’d always loved the physical copies of old documents—their smell, their heft in her hands. As she perused, winding her way into a corner of the archive tucked behind several ferns, agitated voices caught her ear. She twisted her neck, peering through green leaves to see what she could.

Her grandfather’s right hand and man she’d known most of her life, Deputy Hart, spoke in hushed tones to a man Rita recognized, a middle manager from Urban Development—Gray, was it?—who had collaborated with the Mayor on city archival projects. But what the Deputy and this collaborator discussed seemed far from a simple project. From the looks of it, the conversation seemed heated, even angry.

...it wasn't her business. But Rita found her curiosity getting the better of herself; she so rarely saw the Deputy this upset, and the man was like a second grandfather to her. She angled herself among the ferns to better eavesdrop—

"I'm telling you, they weren't with the main cell," Mr. Gray spat. "They were with the _Wallace_ cell, which defected _ages_ ago—"

"Does any of that really matter now?" Deputy Hart sounded weary. "Most of the cells have been wiped out now. The _new_ President saw to that."

"Yes," the man answered darkly. "I'm aware. There are still a few he doesn't know about. _And_ there is also a survivor of the Wallace cell still in Sector 7. He was injured, but—"

"I've already told you, I can't help you. Not now, there’s too much risk—we’re pursuing an alternative strategy with leadership.”

“And you actually think this will work? That things will move along just as it used to?”

Deputy Hart waved off the younger man. “We’ve made our decision. You have your assignments. You'd better run along, they'll be finished any minute—"

Rita waited a few moments for the two men to hurry off, Mr. Gray still protesting to the Deputy. Her heart pounded—what on Gaia was that all about? _Wallace cell_? And someone injured? What did all of this have to do with _Rufus_?

Rita's head spun. She'd have to ponder this further at some other time. As the Deputy and Mr. Gray exited the archives, Rita crawled from her corner toward her grandfather’s office door. She’d waited long enough—

For the second time that day, Rita nearly ran headlong into Rufus Shinra, emerging from the Archive's inner library. This time, their meeting produced a more pronounced reaction in the President. He scanned Rita up and down.

"Ah. This must be the granddaughter you were telling me about."

From behind Rufus, her Papa emerged, face pale. When he didn't answer immediately, Rufus continued, "We haven't met yet." He extended his hand to her, to her shock. Rita tried to project a confidence she didn't feel as she took it and shook.

"Rita Spencer."

"Urban Development," he said, lightly smirking. "Tuesti's assistant."

"That's correct, Mister President." He still clasped her hand and Rita didn't dare withdraw.

"Here before dawn and still hard at work—Director Tuesti is a lucky man indeed." Rufus released Rita, then turned to Mayor Domino to say, "I can only assume she gets her loyalty from you, Mayor. It's a valuable trait."

Rita wasn't sure she imagined the strain in her grandfather's voice as he answered, "You're too generous, Mister President. But I hope you'll give us our leave now—I can't stand the thought of keeping my granddaughter from her work, not when she's so kind to spare me her lunch hour.

"Of course, Mayor. I understand completely." Rufus began sauntering away, casting Rita one last handsomely inscrutable glance. She fought to suppress a shiver—of thrill or fear, she couldn't say. "Family _is_ everything."

* * *

Lunch felt more uncomfortable than Rita could ever remember. She knew at times that the Mayor's position—or lack thereof—within Midgar weighed heavily on his mind. But today her grandfather seemed uncharacteristically sullen. Obviously, Rufus' visit had disturbed him.

When Rita tried to ask, though, he rebuffed her. "Don't you worry yourself about it. Just a social call—ceremonial, really." But for Papa—usually so quick to curse the Company when they wounded his pride—Rita found this out of character.

"How's the Director holding up, eh?" he changed the subject. "It's been quite the week for his department."

"That's one way of putting it." Rita took a bite of sandwich, not really feeling hungry but knowing she needed the fuel—she hadn't eaten all day, save for the coffee.

"I can't imagine he's too happy, what with the destruction of the plate after everything else." Her Papa's voice sounded strained. "I wouldn't blame him for being furious with the people responsible."

There was something in his turn of phrase that made Rita feel on edge. She hadn't told anyone else about the President choosing to drop the plate, and Rita felt sure Reeve hadn't either.

...So why did Papa say it like _that_? _People_. Not _AVALANCHE_.

"He's understandably upset." Rita kept her tone neutral. "But he also has to focus on many other things."

"Ah, yes." Did Rita imagine her grandfather's smile didn't meet his eyes? "Quite the busy man—I imagine he's already working hard on reconstruction."

Rita didn't know how to respond. Just yesterday, President Shinra refused to authorized such a plan. But now...well, now there was a new President.

"Of course the Director's working on it." She took another bite, studying him. "Why are you so curious?"

"Is it so strange I want to keep appraised of the goings on of the manager of my city?" Papa scoffed. Rita had no good answer.

Lunch ended unceremoniously, and Rita felt unsettled as she hugged Papa goodbye. Perhaps it was her own exhaustion, but Rita left feeling irate in no small part thanks to her grandfather's caginess.

Once again, she forced herself to push back her burning curiosity and focus on work. When she finished her initial tasks for Reeve she elected to brush up the Sector 7 Reconstruction plan he had drafted—in case Rufus really did take a different turn from his predecessor. By early afternoon, Rita felt heavy with tiredness and the weight of the company's secrets on her mind—buoyed only by an email from Tseng informing her to meet in the Department of Administrative Research at 5:30 PM.

As the day closed she hurried to finish up her projects and swing by Reeve's office to deposit the days files, but she found him absent. Rita hoped against hope he'd left early, but she knew he'd likely been drawn into a late meeting. She’d check on him before she left for the evening.

Twenty 'til, Rita hurried to the locker room to change into more "training" appropriate clothing. She wasn't entirely sure what Tseng had in mind—and she felt foolish now for not asking—but her gym clothes would have to do.

Hopping into the lift down to the basement, Rita felt giddiness and trepidation swirling within her. Was she really doing this? Going to train with the _Turks?_ She could have asked anyone from the department of Public Safety to give her some pointers—was she out of her mind to ask Tseng?

Before arriving at Rita’s destination, the elevator stalled, the doors opening. Any excitement Rita felt extinguished as Scarlet’s looming form sauntered onto the lift, her gaudy emerald jewelry clinking. Rita froze.

Even on her best days—the 7-hours-of-sleep and full-face of make-up with proper suit days—the company’s lone female Executive regarded Rita as ‘target practice’. A red-headed bullseye at which was aimed cruel bullets about Rita's countenance or competence or class. But now—post-work on hardly 3 hours sleep, exhaustion etched in her face, clad in her dingy athletic trainers—Rita braced for Scarlet's worst.

"Well, if it isn’t Tuesti's _lapdog."_ The Director of Weapons Development, quite tall and stately in her stilettos and velvet red dress, looked down and laughed at Rita’s weary form. "My, looks like he's been running you _ragged_. Too many games of 'fetch'?"

"It has been quite a busy week, ma'am," Rita replied, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"Oh I'm sure. Yet, why are you _here"_ —overly-mascaraed eyes looked at the glowing panel, indicating they'd reached the lowest levels—"heading to the basement? Did the Director send you on a special _errand_ to see _me_?" Scarlet’s obnoxious laugh made Rita’s hair stand on end.

Rita bit her lip to keep from snorting in disgust. "No, Madam Director. I'm heading to General Affairs."

Scarlet's eyes narrowed, and she pressed an accusing, red-manicured nail into Rita’s shoulder, digging into flesh. "What business do _you_ have with the _Turks_?"

The lift mercifully arrived at Rita’s destination. "No business of mine," Rita lied, "just some more 'fetching' before I end my day." The doors opened. "Good evening, ma'am," Rita called out, not looking back to spy Scarlet's expression as she slipped off the lift and down the hall. She didn't care if it raised Scarlet's suspicion that she delivered anything to the Turks on Reeve's behalf. There was a new President after all—Rita doubted Scarlet wanted to take it up with _him_.

Tseng's email had directed her to the office of _General Affairs: Training and Development_. She arrived to find an actual gym. Jet black weights and exercise machines lined the room, beyond them a wall of vibrant red punching bags and lifelike human dummies. The gym was far better appointed than the Rec on the 63rd floor; nothing less than the best for the Turks, she figured. A large black mat sat in the middle of the room. On it stood the Turk.

Rita didn’t recognize the woman. Blonde coiffed hair. Warm, inviting brown eyes. _Too inviting,_ Rita thought, to be a Turk. She was shorter than Rita. As Rita stepped onto the mat, the brown eyes roved over her. "You're Rita Spencer?" The woman’s tone sounded steely, like gunmetal.

"That's me."

"Elena."

Curt, stern faced, Elena began to bark instructions to Rita to cross to the mat in position. Silently Rita complied, worried about her decision to go along with Tseng's plan.

"I understand you're here to learn about stopping an assassination."

Rita gulped. "That's"—a _bsurd—ridiculous—ill-advised—_ "correct."

"Let’s start.” Elena dove right in, watching Rita's face for understanding. "We are going to begin with two basic principles: awareness and adaptability. We are going to hone your awareness of your surroundings and sharpen your senses to threats."...That didn't sound too awful. Seeing Rita's nod, Elena continued, "Then, we are going to practice adaptability in the face of unknown enemies. There is no excuse for you to be defeated by someone just because they are bigger than you."

Elena crossed the room to a cabinet, pulling out tape and gauze, and began to wrap Rita's wrists. Seeing Elena's small frame yet sculpted physique, the hidden strength belied by her size, Rita realized with growing confidence that this might not be so bad after all. She might learn some real valuable lessons from this.

"I'm also gonna teach you to beat the shit out of people." Elena tossed her coiffed hair and grinned.

 _"Perhaps you'll take to it,"_ Tseng had said.

For the first time that day, Rita forgot her sore feet and her tiredness. Her body buzzed with excitement. "Let's get started."

* * *

She drenched with sweat, yet the burn in her body...Rita didn't mind it.

After a quick stretch and warm up, they had started with slow, controlled movements, honing in on awareness of the body and fluid motion. Elena explained to Rita that fluidity—constant motion within a larger flow—produced the power small-framed women like them needed to gain advantages in fights.

"Using our speed and agility, we can wait for our opponent to strike and use their momentum against them."

Elena beckoned to Rita. "Charge me." Rita did, arm outstretched. Elena sidestepped and grabbed it with a sharp tug. The force of Rita's lunge worked against her, somersaulting her to land flat on her back.

From the mat Rita cursed. From above Elena laughed, crossing her arms and accentuating her muscles. "Get used to it. You'll be on your ass at least ten times more before I'm done with you."

Elena kept her word. Rita wasn't sure how long they'd been at it, but she'd settled into her own flow. Elena kept her drills intense but varied. There was no single style, no commitment to a particular practice. This was about practicality. Actionable movements Rita could adopt immediately. Elena showed her how to commonly anticipate short-range attacks, and how to target common weak points.

"Harder!" Elena barked, smacking her boxing pads together. "I know you have more power than that."

But even though Rita had most looked forward to this—wailing on a punching bag—she could feel herself holding back. Worry gripped her. What would the Director think at the sight of her tomorrow, knuckles bruised?

Elena noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Sorry. Just...having a hard time really getting into it. It's strange, hitting something."

"Have you ever punched anything in real life?"

"No."

"Okay. Well, how about you try visualizing someone you really hate, and then imagine that this pad is their face."

Scarlet's face sprang to Rita's mind, and she snorted. She almost remarked that seemed unnecessary but then, well, she remembered exactly where she was and what she was doing. And why she was doing it.

So she focused on her target and—

POP!

"Now that was some nice power! Again."

The smacking sound resounded in the room and Rita found catharsis as she imagined socking Scarlet in the jaw—POP!—then the other Executives, like Heidegger—POP!—Hojo—POP!—Palmer—POP!— _President Shinra, Rot in hell you dropped the plate_ —POP!

Time melted away, until Elena broke Rita's routine to say, "Wow, we need to call it a night. We've been at it for over two hours now." Adrenaline burned through Rita's body. She looked down at her knuckles, stained through the padding.

Bleeding. They were bleeding.

"I've got you." With surprising gentleness, Elena took Rita's hand into hers, unwrapped them, and produced a Cure materia. Muttering the magic incantation under her breath, brilliant turquoise light filtered through the room and across Rita's bruised hands, stitching the broken skin. As the light dissipated, Rita's hands healed completely.

"Thanks."

Elena's eyes looked bright and friendly. "No problem."

They stretched out on the mat before tidying up. No longer in furious motion, Rita's exhaustion began to weigh on her. From the tips of her fingers to her toes, she felt sore. Even a Cure spell couldn't cure that.

"You did well today," Elena's voice tore Rita from her thoughts. "Gotta say, I wasn't sure what to expect when Tseng told me you were looking for some training." Elena smirked. "You're not half bad."

"Well, thanks. You're not as bad as I expected, either." Rita felt pleased by the laugh this elicited.

"I'm curious to know who you were thinking of there, at the end. You really were in a groove."

Rita bit down on her grin. "Maybe next session."

"I'll hold you to that," Elena said as they exited together. "Though, we'll need to meet sometime next week. I'm actually leaving tomorrow on an assignment—covering for one of my partners who got pretty beat up last night in the attack."

Elena said this with such a casual air, Rita found herself caught off-guard. In her experience the Turks were tight-lipped about their operations. Rita mulled this as together they walked out of the gym.

For the third time that day, Rita nearly collided with someone in the threshold. Only this time, it wasn't Rufus she barely missed.

It was Reeve.

"Director!" Rita exclaimed, unbidden. Her shock at seeing him instantly melted into embarrassment—here she was, sweaty and flushed with mussed hair in her gym attire. She squirmed slightly against Elena.

Reeve did a double-take when he spied her, color rising in his cheeks. "Ms. Spencer! I didn't expect to see you here."

From the corner of her eye, Rita registered Elena smirking at the scene. Rita felt unspeakably irritated at her amusement. "I'm just finishing up a training session. Elena's been so kind to teach me," Rita gestured by way of introduction.

Elena took her cue. "Nice to see you again, Director," she nodded. Then she looked at Rita, impish fire in her eyes. "Well, Rita"—Elena slipped into a tone that struck Rita as far too casual for their new acquaintanceship, regardless how fun a first meeting—"I'll leave you here to walk back with the Director."

And then Elena winked at them both. 

Rita felt so hot she was sure she'd burn to a crisp. If Rita hadn't liked the other woman so much during their first meeting, she'd feel mad. As it stood, she swallowed her pride and forced herself to turn toward Reeve, sweaty flushed face and all.

To his credit, he gallantly ignored Elena's tease and motioned with a kind smile toward the elevator. 

No sooner had the doors closed did he ask, "So... training. With Turks?" Reeve couldn't contain his surprise. Not that she could blame him. Before today, she wouldn’t have believed it herself.

"Well," Rita felt the heat rise further in her cheeks. "Today when I met with Tseng, I asked him if there were any more threats, to—to the Executives." Better to get it out quickly, she figured. "I asked him if there was anything I could do."

"Do?"

Why was this so hard for her to voice aloud? "To...protect you." She was sure her face looked redder than the ShinRa banner now.

Color rose in Reeve's face. "You asked about training to protect me?"

Maybe it was the combination of her over-tiredness, her awkwardness, or her lingering embarrassment, but Rita began laughing. "I know. I'm sorry, it's so silly." Fists balled, arms crossed over her chest, she turned away to hide, feeling no small part foolish. But then she felt the slightest brush against her elbow.

"No," his voice sounded soft and low, "it's not silly." Reeve's face looked earnest, his cheeks still dusky pink. "It's very kind of you, Rita. Thank you." Her heart raced as he said her name, as it usually did. His eyes met hers. "I'm so grateful for you." 

The moment lingered, interrupted by the chime of the elevator. They exited to part ways, Reeve bidding her a goodnight heading to his office while Rita stole away to the lockers to shower. Her heart still raced, mind turning the scene over in her head and reliving the brush of his fingers against her bare elbow. Why did it make her feel so giddy?

She finished cleaning up, and since she was on the same floor, decided to swing by his office one final time. But when she arrived, she met with a sight she didn't expect.

Outstretched on his leather couch, a rare sight—Reeve asleep. He'd shucked his jacket and tie off and rolled his sleeves—though it was obvious from the folder collapsed on his chest he'd still been trying to work. Rita crept closer, resting against the couch above him to spy his relaxed features, his handsome brow and the light smattering of freckles splayed along the bridge of his nose. He looked at peace, and as she watched Rita realized so rarely did she ever see Reeve like this.

Taking his discarded jacket, Rita crossed to the coat rack to hang it. But then something scurried in the corner of her eye, and she turned with quick reflexes, raising her fists like Elena had showed her. Yet she saw nothing. Only shadows.

Her heart pounded. Spying the clock on the wall, she saw it was nearly 9:00 PM. She needed to get home—and sleep.

Rita crossed over the office threshold, sparing one last moment to glance at Reeve. Satisfied he was alone and peaceful, Rita closed the door behind her. As she walked out of Headquarters, she longed to push aside all the worries and curiosities of the day.

If Rita were to rest tonight, she'd somehow need to forget the comings and goings of Rufus Shinra, the reticence of the men in her life to be forthright with her, and the scurried blur of a cat walking upright, crown on head.


	2. The First Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeve gets his new orders and puts Cait Sith to his assignment. Cait Sith rebels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reeve has always fascinated me as a character, and so I really have a great time exploring what's going on in his head. I had so much fun putting my own spin on Reeve and Cait Sith's connection and relationship. Felt exciting to write - I hope you all enjoy reading it. :)

Massaging his tired eyes, Reeve stepped onto the lift to head down to the lobby. He’d barely managed to net a few hours of sleep, unable to forget _yesterday's_ turn of events—

The official story the public received of Old Shinra's demise followed that AVALANCHE carried out a successful assassination. The executive briefing, however, unveiled the devilish details.

 _Sephiroth_. The hero of the Wutai war, famous SOLDIER and face of ShinRa's military might—and verifiable _dead_ man, the true assassin? Reeve found himself numb upon hearing the news. How could it be possible? _Not a word to anyone, of course_ , Rufus had sounded so casual, as if dead war heroes regularly resurrected and then terrorized their former charge.

But then, oligarchies were not to acknowledge disgruntled heroes coming back from the dead—no matter how revered by the populace. Not to mention, Sephiroth had made off with precious _scientific_ materials, Professor Hojo had informed the group—the JENOVA project could not afford to be compromised, let alone be made _public_. After all, an image would ill befit the new _heir_. And so, with a little help from Scarlet's press charm, the story was planted: AVALANCHE assassinated Old Shinra, leaving the company little choice but to pursue them, and justice. A more advantageous story for the President, one Reeve would need to help sell.

It was under these circumstances that Rufus arrived in Reeve's office first thing in the morning after the President’s assassination. If the man felt upset about his father’s passing, he didn’t show it. Rufus’ demeanor was all business.

 _Effective immediately,_ Reeve had a new priority. “Your…creation,” Rufus parsed his words, “is the best chance we have to going undetected. It’s the advantage the Turks need.” Reeve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Never mind _how_ the President knew about his ‘side project’—Reeve suspected Tseng had something to do with that. But wanting to use _Cait Sith_ to infiltrate and track AVALANCHE as they pursued Sephiroth? The cat may have helped the Turks with assignments here and there in the past, but this would be far beyond the scope of anything his creation had done before. And this version still had so many bugs…

Reeve wanted to balk at the request, but it _wasn't_ one—it was a command. His precious Cait Sith would travel with the Turks from Junon until they caught the terrorists' trail.

Rufus sensed Reeve's reticence and took a bargaining stance. "You spoke out against the plate falling, I heard," Rufus shook his head, tsking. "What a waste. My father may have been a passable businessman, but he was a terrible strategist." This surprised Reeve. He’d long harbored secret hopes that Rufus would shape into a worthwhile future leader, a welcome change from his callous father. To hear the President say this...well, he felt his hope was not unfounded.

"I understand you requested funds for Sector 7's reconstruction.” Rufus’ cold blue eyes met Reeve’s. “I can arrange for monies to be at your disposal for such a project." Reeve looked at him, almost unbelieving. "Mind you," Rufus' voice turned sharp, eyes glinting, "not a _full_ reconstruction. But perhaps if you're _successful_ in your _assignment_ ," the edge in Rufus' voice made the hairs on Reeve's neck stand, "then we can discuss further."

Reeve's nerves iced over. This...was not a kindness. The survivors of Sector 7—indeed, all of Midgar—were still hostaged to the whims of a man named Shinra. Nothing but chess pieces, means by which Rufus could leverage others. Leverage _Reeve_. Rufus faced his first real challenge as President, and he'd revealed himself to be ruthless in rising to it.

Having had little choice, Reeve had agreed to Rufus' proposition. Somehow, midst managing the rest of Midgar, he'd manage this covert surveillance too. Which brought him to the next pressing matter to manage...

What on Gaia was he going to do about _Rita_?

Her consideration for his wellbeing touched him. But for heaven's sake, the lass nearly walked in on him conversing with Rufus pre-dawn! _And_ now that she was taking— _lessons_ , were they?—with Elena, the risk of her learning something rose considerably. What was she thinking, anyway? Taking lessons from a Turk to protect _him?_

His mind flickered to the image of Rita swiveling around, fists raised, suspecting someone watched. Which of course was true, Cait Sith spying on her from the shadows as she entered the room and bid Reeve's sleeping form a sweet goodnight. Filled to the brim with kindness...kinder than he deserved, that was sure. But Rita was _too perceptive_ for her own good...as much as he appreciated her hard work, the last thing he needed right now was her interference in _general affairs_.

Rita waited in the lobby as Reeve stepped off the lift, black bag slung over her shoulder and coffees in hand. As she raised her arm to pass him his cup, she winced.

"Everything all right, Ms. Spencer?"

"Just fine, sir," Rita rubbed her shoulder, "feeling stiff from yesterday, but thank you."

"You _never_ need to thank _me_ for anything." Training to help protect him in case he became a target—he could never ask such a thing of her, and yet— "You do more than enough you know. About those lessons..."

She waved him off. "Sir, I don't want to hear it. It's my decision, and _I_ want to feel more prepared in case anything happens." She sipped her coffee. "Besides, _you're_ not the only person I need to protect, you know," she cast him an arch expression.

"Ah." He should have known better than to pick this battle. Should have _realized_ she'd be ready for it. Gaia knew they'd had enough similar arguments—he insisted she didn't need to take care of him, and she insisted that all evidence pointed to the contrary.

But she'd prepared a secret weapon today—her grandfather. Dirty trick. Reeve felt sufficiently chastened to have forgotten that indeed, the _Mayor_ of Midgar faced possible danger as well. "I apologize Ms. Spencer. Forget I said anything."

She smiled, but it didn't seem to meet her eyes. She looked _exhausted_ , even more so than the day before. Reeve he led her outside to the executive carpool, where Felix waited.

A tank of a man, his tall, burly build had earned him distinction on the battlefield in Wutai, before being sent home with a schrapneled knee. Settling in Midgar, Felix found himself employed as personal valet and additional security to the ShinRa Executives—Reeve had become a fast favorite and friend.

When he spied their approach, Felix opened the door and ushered them inside. "Good morning, Director Tuesti." And then, to Rita, he gushed, "Ms. Spencer! Now that I know you're joining, my day has improved tenfold." Rita cracked, smiling at him, the tension in her shoulders melting away at her friend's greeting. 

But only temporarily. No sooner were they off did Rita's body set again in rigid posture. Reeve supposed he couldn't blame her. Swarms of butterflies attacked his stomach as they made their way toward Sector 7, parking near to the site where the plate had been released, before taking the construction lift down into Midgar’s underbelly.

Rufus'... _generous_ reallocation of funds enabled them to coordinate clean-up, but Reeve and Rita needed to assess the site first to know where to begin. As they stepped through the wreckage, Rita pulled from her black bag a camera and began surveying the scene, soft _click-click-click_ in her wake.

The ruins still smoked, the undercity pockmarked from charred concrete and twisted metal, dusty piles of crushed building and bone scattered about. By some arbiter of fate, Reeve observed survivors salvaging from the wreckage. No one else from ShinRa had come to survey the scene; no officers from Public Safety, certainly no other high-level officials. Draped in their sleek overcoats and ShinRa airs, Reeve and Rita drew the scrutiny of the undercity dwellers as they passed. Reeve wished they would stare anywhere else; the weight of their pitiful, angry gazes further crushed his wavering spirit. Heidegger’s mocking laugh rang in his head, and fire exploded within Reeve. How dare the General call _him_ a coward—Heidegger didn’t have the courage to come down here and face these people after what he’d done to them.

The empty space above him where the plate should have still hung seemed too vast to comprehend. It would take them hours still to complete a survey. He paced the site, vast and scarred by scorched debris. He didn't know where Rita disappeared to, but no doubt calculations ran in her mind just as his. The paltry sum Rufus offered would be nowhere near enough to do justice to reconstruction. Still...it would be the confines within which they would operate, _as always_.

He sighed, the press of guilt heavy on his chest as he continued his survey. At 17, he designed the mako reactor, changing his family’s fate and that, he believed, of the world. Too late did he realize it was for the worse. He'd enabled these monsters, fueled their rise, enriched their families—to what end? What had he gained that made this _worth_ it? How could he justify it to himself? Reeve wouldn't even be able to fix it. Not unless...

Unless he risked his most precious secret in the _world_ , for the sake of helping the man who wanted to _rule it_.

He spied Rita emerging from the crowd gathered near a busy alley, where survivors straggled in their attempts to pitch new abodes. Her nose looked pink, and he feared that beneath her sunglasses her eyes were red-rimmed.

Rita steadfastly avoided his gaze as she approached. "I've got what I need," her voice sounded clip as she bagged the camera. Without breaking her gait she marched toward the lift, Reeve barely managing to climb into it behind her. The ride back up seemed tortuously long, but to her credit, Rita only sniffled once. He lacked the courage to ask her about it.

No sooner had the lift doors opened did Rita race toward the car, and Felix barely opened the door quickly enough before she ducked low and vanished inside.

Felix looked from the car to Reeve, black eyes shining with the query: _What did you do?_

 _Nothing,_ Reeve shook his head. _That_ was the problem.

As Reeve climbed into his seat, Rita steadfastly ignored him, her eyes fixed out of the window, lips pursed in a tense line. And yet...

He _felt_ the turbulence radiating from her. It was true, over the years she'd come to learn his moods and vulnerabilities. But shy of ten years had taught him much about _her_ in turn.

"Ms. Spencer"—no, not like that—" _Rita,_ are you all right?"

Upon hearing her name she turned, lip quavering. "Director, I—" she bit down, halting a tremble. She drew a deep, steadying breath. "While this plate fell, and killed all these people...I was tucked away safely, writing a report about how much it would _cost_ to rebuild the city's _. Infrastructure."_ She punctuated the last word with a strangled gasp.

Her words gutted him.

" _All_ I can think about," her voice teetered on the edge of a sob now, "is how all those people _died_ and _I knew_ it was happening. And _we didn't_ — _"_ She broke, tears falling from beneath her dark sunglasses.

She didn't need to say anymore. Reeve felt the sting of tears in his own eyes.

 _We didn't do enough to stop it._ No. That wasn't fair. Rita didn't deserve that.

 **_I_ ** _didn't do enough to stop it._

* * *

The ride back felt long and unbearably silent. Arriving at Headquarters they parted ways, Rita saying nothing. At 5:15 he spied her in her gym clothes as they hopped onto opposite lifts—him up, her down, no doubt to go to the basement to meet with Elena again. As their eyes met, she nodded, but still they exchanged no words. Reeve wasn't sure there was anything he _could_ say.

He needed to decompress, _desperately_. As he nudged open the door of his apartment, Reeve's thoughts lingered to the night the former President died. Before they'd gotten the news, Rita and Reeve had spent their time preparing for a disastrous board meeting, writing a reconstruction plan doomed to go unread. In their defeat, Rita had snuck them some booze and they'd found a small moment of respite midst all the turmoil.

And now, barely two days later, Reeve feared the foundation of their relationship had cracked. His inability to stop the plate fall and build it back...would this forever color how Rita perceived him? For nearly 10 years they'd worked together—before her, he had burned through assistants at a near-monthly clip, none able to keep up with his particular demands as Director. Reeve _needed_ Rita—honestly couldn't imagine what he'd do without her by his side.

"Och—" Cait Sith bounced onto Reeve's shoulders in a flurry, red cape flapping in his face, "would a lass who thinks o' leaving be taking _lessons_ to try an' protect yeh?"

Reeve flipped the cape away and patted the cat's shoulder. "I see the mindlink is working better on your end—any issues today?"

"If yer referring to the surge I felt this morn, well, tha' was a spell. Keeled right over!"

"This morning?" Reeve thought back. "While I was in Sector 7...you _felt_ that?"

"Aye! And how."

"Not good," Reeve crossed to his desk, a large workstation with desktop terminals and a wide clear tinkering space, placing Cait Sith on top of it. "You can't lose consciousness when I experience strong emotions." He knew what the cat must have felt. Reeve reflected on the night the plate fell—when Cait Sith witnessed it, the reverberations of his guilt and despair pulsed through Reeve like a shockwave, forcing him to his knees. "C'mere," he waved the cat to his workstation. "I'll make adjustments."

It wasn't something Reeve could explain well to anyone else, his unique connection with this cat-droid. Though the components of Cait Sith's body were a combination of toy and machine, the cat's sentience surpassed that of mere technology. Yes, after countless trials-and-errors, many late nights spent tinkering, Reeve had finally concluded that what _inspired_ Cait Sith's abilities were nothing short of _magic_.

...a magic contained within Reeve himself. A magic Reeve didn't _understand_ at all.

He'd tried to articulate it to himself once—how his fingers could melt into metal and manipulate it. How he could look at a structure or building and see with _vision_ that went beyond his eyesight. Machines...they _whispered_ to him. It seemed to Reeve that energy teemed within _all_ objects, and Reeve—well, Reeve _felt_ that energy. Could draw upon it—could _activate_ it, even _merge_ with it, if his theory about why Cait Sith adopted the accent Reeve had long worked to suppress as anywhere near correct.

To say any of this out loud made Reeve feel unhinged. At best, speaking such things aloud would land him labeled crazy or eccentric—even more so than was perhaps rumored now. But at _worst,_ the thought that perhaps _Hojo_ would learn about Reeve's unique ability and pry—or worse, want to _experiment_...

Reeve shuddered. No. He kept quiet, holding the secret of Cait Sith's nature close to his chest. No one—not Tseng, not _Ma—_ knew that it was Reeve's _powers,_ not academic prowess, that brought the cat to _life_.

Borne from the connection inspired between Reeve's innate energy and the unique components of toy and machine, their neural link went beyond that of a physical controller. When he first inspired Cait Sith, their emotional connection was instant and tumultuous—only later would Reeve realize he experienced all of Cait's Sith's first emotions. _Fear. Surprise. Confusion. Joy._

Within a day, Reeve realized he'd begun to experience a peculiar _duality_ of mind—an ability to see _outside_ of himself, through Cait's eyes. And yet, adjusting to this new duality wasn't particularly difficult for Reeve. In fact, he found that it felt natural, as if it were a part of him he'd always been missing his whole life.

Of course, that didn't mean that Cait Sith worked perfectly—hardly so. Like all things in life, he required refinement and care.

Reeve's fingers hovered over the crown atop Cait Sith's head. He drew in a steadying breath, and focused his energy forward, from the deep well of power in the center of his being, beyond his heart, down his arms and through his fingertips. His energy mingled with that of Cait Sith's; Reeve set to work tuning their emotions.

With his free hand, Reeve switched on the desk radio, soft lilting music rising in his apartment. A sense of ease washed over maker and creation. As they let the music settle into the background of their mind, Reeve began the test. He closed his eyes and prepared his mind for the task.

 _Ma—_ feelings of adoration and affection, not too strong, though sub-emotions seemed tinged with... _guilt?_ It _had_ been a while since he'd called Ruvie; Reeve would need to make a point to change that. _Veld—_ fondness, trust, a longing to reconnect with the former mentor, a feeling that Reeve tuned ever so slightly so as to temper the cat's more impulsive instincts. _Rufus—_ wariness, good, that one seemed nicely adjusted. _Tseng_ —guardedness in spite of warmer feelings, though Reeve moderated those slightly—"I'm assuming this means you don't want me cozyin' up to 'em on the journey, eh?" Cait Sith teased and Reeve playfully swatted him. _Scarlet_ —anger, heat, disgust, perhaps a little _too_ strong, Reeve refined that as well.

"What do you feel when I think about Sector 7?"

"Och—" Cait Sith clutched his chest— "like I cannae breathe. Deep pain and grief." As he watched the little doll struggle under the weight, Reeve smoothed out the spikes of tortured energy between them, modulating the impact so that both would feel _less_ of each other's burden. "Oh, I dinnae like this. Have any happier thoughts?"

 _Happy thoughts_? "I'm sorry Cait Sith, I'll admit today was not the happiest."

"Aye, I know what'll make ye feel happy—always does!"

"What?"

 _"Rrrita! Ah,_ the bonnie lass." Cait Sith sighed, bouncing around. "Things look _gold_ , when ye think about _her_." Reeve scoffed but made no effort to deny what the cat had said—though today certainly challenge his happy perception of her. There would be no point in doing so. Still, he felt the need to clarify—

"That's not _happy_."

"Then wha' is it?"

"Something entirely else."

"Ye gonna tell me?"

"Not that one." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not yet."

* * *

Modding Cait Sith lasted longer than he expected, though not because of any complications. Rather, Reeve enjoyed his time spent with his creation, finding it soothing.

Not that it helped him the next morning, shy a few hours of sleep. He woke to message from Tseng on his PHS: _Grab your overnight bag. Bring a bag for CS, too._ A ping from his phone told him an email with a new itinerary waited in his inbox. With groggy eyes, Reeve read the message and trudged to grab his items and two bags.

 _"_ I get my own bag?" Cait Sith hopped happily. "But why?"

"You're not packing a bag," Reeve grinned pitifully at Cait Sith. "You're getting _packed_. We're expected in Junon." Cait Sith cried out offended, futile though it was. Reeve collared him and placed him in the duffel, zipping it up over the sounds of the cat's protests. "Don't move around while you're in there," Reeve cautioned as he stepped onto the elevator. "You can't blow your cover _this_ early. For both our sakes."

As he stepped off the lift, Rita's auburn hair filtered into view. A larger black bag hung on her back today, two coffees in hand once more. She didn't wait for any greeting to hand him his, though she must have noted the look of confusion on Reeve's face, saying, "Tseng informed me last night about the inaugural parade. He advised I pack a bag."

Reeve did his best to mask any surprise as well as his rising irritation—why hadn't Tseng mentioned it to _him_? "Well, I'm glad to have you along. I certainly could use the help staying on top of all the Division tasks." He hoped his smile looked kind and not strained as he felt. Rita didn't seem to notice—she was in motion, pulling out her data pad.

"Felix is already waiting for us on the helipad," she scanned through her messages. "And I've arranged for the intrarail and reconstruction project updates to be routed to the Junon offices—the UrbDev team there is preparing a space for us to work, and they also offered to have a few of their staff assist as well."

"I should have known you'd have already taken care of all of this," Reeve marveled at Rita with a smile. She would have learned about the impromptu trip for the Presidential Inauguration late last night, after her lesson with Elena. Yet she had still managed to prepare for the day, and leave the Division running smoothly in their absence. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you recently?"

For first time in several days, Rita's smile reached her eyes. "You _could_ stand to say it more, Director," she admitted.

"I'll make a point to, Ms. Spencer."

Felix waited on the helipad dapper in his pilot's uniform. They finished their coffees quickly and hopped aboard the helicopter, seated side-by-side. As the engine roared to life, Reeve's second carry-on seemed to give a _shiver_. It escaped Rita's attention, but Reeve mentally _tugged_ on his link with Cait Sith, willing the cat to _Be still._

The rotors turned and they took off, sky bound. Reeve stared aimlessly as they rushed into the air, spying how the Midgar skyline shrank before his view. To his right Rita read her tablet, no doubt reviewing the days reports or emails. The rotor's methodical hum overhead droned steadily, and he felt heavy. From the back of his mind, Cait Sith's voice sounded playful, _Someone's drowsy..._

Reeve woke with a slight start to realize they were grounded. He rubbed his eyes, barely registering the heavy weight on his shoulder. As he turned he spied auburn hair.

Rita had also fallen asleep on the ride, and in doing so had slumped against him, inadvertently resting her head upon his shoulder. She looked so peaceful, Reeve almost couldn't bear to wake her. Yet Felix had already exited and awaited.

With a gentle nudge, he prompted her awake. Realizing where she'd dozed, Rita gave a start, cheeks blooming a bright pink. Before she could apologize, Reeve waved her off. "We both used each other as pillows. No apologies needed."

Seeming abashed, Rita brushed her bangs from her face. "I'll take your word for it, sir." As they exited, Reeve offered her his hand to step down, spying that her ears still burned bright pink and steadfastly ignoring Felix’s toothy grin.

On the far end of the helipad, they spied Tseng, who stared intently at Reeve. "Why don't you go on ahead without me, Ms. Spencer. I have some, ah—matters I need to attend to." She gave a wary glance at Tseng, but didn't interrupt as Reeve said, "Could you kindly take this to my office?" Reeve handed her his personal bag.

"Of course, Director."

As he watched her depart, Reeve felt a pang. He didn't like deceiving her in any manner. With a sigh, Reeve made his way to the helicopter to retrieve the _other_ bag. But when he arrived, he saw that the bag was empty.

**_...Cait Sith, where did you go!?_ **

* * *

**_Stuffed in a bag, the_** **nerve _!_** Cait Sith pointedly ignored the sharp tugging on Reeve's end of their connection, sending a few _choice_ words to his maker in reply. Slinking in shadows, Cait Sith made his way through the throng of citizens, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs and take in the sights. It'd been some time since he'd seen this city—and he'd be _damned_ if Reeve shipped him off with the Turks before he got to enjoy a proper tour!

Besides, if he _really_ wanted to, Reeve could override his controls to keep him from wandering off. But his maker endowed him with a strong sense of self-reliance and curiosity. Cait Sith could hardly be blamed for capitalizing on it. And for the most part, Da seemed to _encourage_ his independence and exploration.

**_Please come back, Cait Sith. Tseng needs to meet with you._ **

**_Pshhh_**. More like needed to _debrief_ him. Cait Sith had _tomorrow_ for that. **_I sat in that bag and made nary a sound for 4 hours—_**

**_It was 43 minutes._ **

**_I'm owed at least 43 minutes o' freedom—_** Cait Sith muted their neural line. He now approached a sight that intrigued and intimidated him. 

A towering structure, whose shadow loomed long and large. Sleek, massive, _bronze_ , the Sister Ray cannon stood as a monument to ShinRa's power—and Scarlet's unexpectedly cruel imagination. The very project that had enshrined her seat at the Executive's table. Oh, things had been so different _before_.

Cait Sith shook away the gray, sullen, _foreign_ memories that invaded his mind. He felt sure there were plenty of views in Junon _beyond_ just the great cannon for him to enjoy.

No sooner had he thought it than such a view drifted into his sight, followed by the _click-clack_ of heels. A vision of auburn and light gray, and it took not even a moment for Cait Sith to recognize _her_ : Rita, the bonnie lass herself. She'd approached the dock, just beneath Sister Ray's cannon, and looked out into the sea. She dropped the bags she'd been carrying—both hers and Reeve's—and leaned against the railing. From his shadowed hideaway, Cait Sith spied the dark circles under her eyes, the tug of her lips downward.

Unbidden, the vision of Rita sobbing in the car in the wreckage of Sector 7 filtered into his mind.

The sweet lass. The toll her work was taking seemed obvious now, from his view hidden in the shadows. As she looked over the pier, Rita seemed dull and worn.

That wouldn't do. Cait Sith felt inspired—she needed cheerin' up, and he was just tha cat to do it!

A muffled command filtered into his mind, but he further tamped down on link. Whatever his creator ordered now, it went unheeded.

Cait Sith approached Rita. He crept quietly, making sure no others approached before he crossed to where she stared out at azure waves. Satisfied they'd be alone, he hopped upon the railing next to her.

Rita shrieked. In her haste to back away, she tripped on the bags at her feet, swaying backwards. Springing forth, Cait Sith grabbed her, one hand to pull her back upright and steady, and the other to clamp quickly against her mouth, stifling her.

"Och, I didnae mean to give ye such a fright, lassie!" Upon hearing him speak, Rita froze, gray eyes wide. Satisfied she would no longer scream, Cait Sith uncovered her mouth. Rita still stared in shock, until from her lips bubbled a high-pitched, nervous sounding laugh.

"Ohhhh, I've officially lost it, huh." Her laugh teetered on the verge of manic tears, her exhalation shaky. "I'm hallucinating." Rita rubbed her eyes. "First I fall asleep on my _boss_ , and now I'm hallucinating—"

"No hallucinations here, m'dear," Cait Sith shook his head. "No hallucination can grab you from thin air!"

Any trace of her laughter vanished, replaced with terror. "You're _real_ then?" Rita whispered, leaning away from the cat again. "So...so you _have_ been following me around then?"

Cait Sith perked. "Followin'? Nae, I didnae follow you anywhere."

"Then why are you _here_?" She snapped and Cait Sith backed away in mild fright. "I saw you at Headquarters the night of the President's assassination, an- and then later in General Affairs, and now you're _here_ , in _Junon_! If you're not following me, why do I keep _seeing_ you everywhere?"

Reeve's end of the link tugged persistently, and Cait Sith felt the pull as if a painful yarn in the back of his mind threaded through his nostrils. His creator was _displeased_ by the cat's carelessness—to be seen by Rita on 3 occasions! And worse— _to not even realize_.

"So what do you want?" Rita seemed alert now, her fists clenched and her posture sliding into a squared stance. She clearly had taken Elena's lessons to heart. He raised his hands in supplication.

"I mean no harm, lassie, only cheer."

"I didn't realize the Cait Sith came to cheer souls. I thought he came to _steal_ them."

It was Cait Sith's turn to feel shocked. So she knew her Highland lore, did she? "I'm not _the_ Cait Sith," he marveled at her knowledge. "I will nae steal yer soul. Don't even have one, myself—all fluff an' steel." He patted his tummy affectionately, though he wasn’t entire sure how true the statement was. Did he have a soul? He’d have to ask Da.

Rita's face scrunched in confusion. "So you really _are_ just a doll then?" In a swift motion she raised her hand to stroke the fur of the cat's belly. Cait Sith tittered.

"Och, that tickles!"

"How..." Rita's eyes roamed from his crown to his cape, "how is this possible? How do you even work?" She glanced around furtively, as if ensuring they remained unseen. "What _are_ you?"

"Ye already guessed. A _doll—"_

 _"_ No, it's more than that," Rita interjected. "Are you a robot?"

"Eh. Aye. An' nae."

"Who created you?"

"Can’t say."

Her brow furrowed further at his playful vaguery. "So why are you here in Junon?"

"So many questions!" He shook his head. "I've a question or few of my own. Ye've seen me before?"

"As I said—in Midgar." Rita's eyes narrowed on him. "Which is why I need to know—why are you in Junon now?"

"I go where my creator makes me," Cait Sith answered, pointedly ignoring the ache pulsing in his forehead. "Though, I also go where I will, oh-ho!" He laughed, and in spite of her wariness, Rita's lips curved upward.

"A traveler, hm? And before Midgar, I suppose you came from Kalm?"

"Tha's a secret."

"A secret." Her lips pursed down.

To change the topic, Cait Sith sidled closer to her, balancing on the railing. "Let me tell yer fortune, lassie!"

"My fortune?"

"Tha's right. It'll cheer you; tha's why I approached ye in the first place!"

Looking bemused and slightly sleepy, Rita nodded with reluctance. Cait Sith began to dance, and Rita barely contained her eye roll.

"Really?"

But Cait Sith's gyrations grew more erratic, the tiny cat shaking to an imaginary beat, and the sight of it must have been one to behold. Rita could resist no longer; she cracked into reluctant laughter.

"Ah ha!" Cait Sith slowed to watch her mirth. "So ye _can_ have fun, lassie."

She glared at him, though her gaze lacked malice. "I thought you were going to tell my fortune, hm? Get on with it, then," she deadpanned. Cait Sith stopped dancing, and grabbed Rita's hands, gloved thumbs tracing her palms. Cait Sith let himself feel her energy, and drew forth the wisdom he heard:

"The simplest answer is to act."

Rita stared at him, blank faced. "Is that it?"

"And yer lucky color is pink."

Rita snorted, with just a touch of derision. "Have you seen this?" She pointed a slender finger toward her hair, glinting brilliant red in the sunlight. "Pink's not my color." Cait Sith shrugged.

"Maybe not to wear. But it is yer _lucky_ color."

"Whatever you say, _Cait Sith_." Rita stared at him, still looking unconvinced. "This...is really happening. This isn't a dream?" Cait Sith shook his head. She huffed. "But you promise you're not following me? It's just a _perfect coincidence_ that I see a robot doll in the shape of a mythical highland creature in every city I happen to be in?"

"’Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye!’"

" _What?"_

"An auld Kalmland sayin'. ‘What's meant to happen, will.’"

Rita raised a skeptical brow. "And so I was _meant_ to meet you, just because."

"Life's funny like tha'."

"Then what now?" Rita sighed. "You won't tell me anything about yourself?"

"Some things are meant to stay secret," Cait Sith responded smartly, but Rita pursed her lips at the cat's shiftiness.

"Then why did you approach me?"

"I already told ye that, ye needed _cheerin'_." Cait Sith scoffed. "And you look mildly cheered, aye?" He danced around again, hoping to provoke another laugh.

Rita still scrutinized the cat, but the expression of her eyes seemed brighter. Then, she grabbed the bags from the ground. With a small smile, she said, _"Aye."_

* * *

"—Unbelievable." Reeve fumed, his breath hot as it flared from his nostrils. "You deliberately disobeyed me."

"I was owed 43 minutes."

"Do yeh _realize_ how you've jeopardized our operation?" In his irritation, Reeve's own accent slipped, mirroring that of his creation.

"Ehh, come off it!" The cat waved a lazy, gloved hand and stretched backwards, languid and long. "I didnae say anything revealing."

"You _referenced me!_ " Reeve tried to shout his whisper, keenly aware of Tseng's cold presence beyond the door. The man had granted Reeve a few moments to... _modify_ the robot's attitude and behavior cores.

And _reprimand_ him.

"Och, yer secret's safe. Best she thinks, whoever created me is an unknown mad genius who plays with robot dolls." With his sly grin, the cat teased, "On the other hand, seems yer right, there’s no foolin’ that clever lass. She's likely got yer number."

"You'd better hope not." Reeve gave an angry tug on their link, to make a point. "If Rita learns anything, it will put _her_ at greatest risk, don't you get it?" Reeve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "They could use her as leverage against me."

"Wha' makes ye so sure that they aren't already?"

Reeve stared at the cat for a long moment. A sharp rap at the door interrupted his musing. Tseng entered.

"Finished?"

"Just about." Reeve cast a final glare at Cait Sith before picking him up and straightening his crown. As his fingers glided across the gold, Reeve sank into their mind link and with a manipulated the thread that tethered his emotions to Rita. They shone, bright gold and hot. Tempering this, Reeve felt satisfied to let the cat jump down and saunter toward Tseng.

"All ready, new boss! Let the infiltration begin!" Cait Sith cried cheerily to Tseng, who's eyes narrowed in response.

"This isn't an _infiltration_. You are to gather intelligence."

"Are those things not one in the same?"

"You are not to intervene directly. It would raise suspicion." Tseng scowled. "Why would a group of terrorists let an autonomous toy doll join their group?" He shook his head. "That's preposterous."

* * *

His prized possession now in the hands of the Turks, Reeve refocused on other matters. Upon finding her in the Junon offices, Rita seemed the essence of composure, so unlike how she'd appeared with Cait Sith.

...that fact deeply unsettled him. Had she always been this good at _pretending_?

As he approached she made to hand him a stack of folders. Before she could launch into any explanation, Reeve held his hand to stall her.

"Take the day off, Ms. Spencer."

Her jaw dropped. "Director?"

"It's just...you could use the break. Coordinating all of this was more than enough; I can take it from here."

“But, I’m already here.”

She would never ask for the time herself, and he couldn't tell her exactly how he _knew_ just how worn down she felt. But he could do this, owed her this. "Consider it a directive," Reeve smiled. "Go see the city." He snorted. "Or nap."

She laughed, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath before meeting his gaze again. “If you're sure, sir."

"I am. Take care of yourself. I'll meet you here tomorrow morning, before the parade."

Her smile seemed tired, but genuine. "Sounds perfect." He let his gaze linger as she retreated, and though he knew it was hardly enough to make up for all that she did to help him, he felt buoyed by the knowledge that for once, he would be able to take care of _her_.

When Reeve next saw Rita, she looked bright eyed and considerably better rested. She'd once again brought their coffees, and together they sipped as they headed into the crisp morning air, toward the pier where Rufus’ Inaugural Parade was about to begin.

The Executive Dais glinted in spectacular bronze at the end of the dock. The others hadn't arrived yet; that wasn't entirely favorable to Reeve. If he was the lone executive, that left it to him to handle the media already beginning to gather.

He cast a pointed glance at Rita, who turned to spy what concerned him. "I can go ahead and get them to move."

"I'd prefer we stay together," he scanned the gathering crowd, grateful he was less recognizable here in Junon, but no less wary about any attention he would draw. He didn't like the idea of being separated from Rita—especially if it meant having to sit in wait with the other executives without her to make it bearable.

Rita studied the city street. "We can cut through the back alley, there." She pointed toward a darkened corridor. "It should take us north. We can wait there until a few of the others arrive before walking up the dais."

He followed her lead, murmuring low so only she could hear, "I deeply appreciate you. Note this for the record."

"Noted, sir."

Not far ahead they spotted that they were not the only ones to avoid the crowd—Scarlet also hung back in the alleyway, standing out against the dingy darkness in her plunging red velvet dress. Furtively, the other Director glanced around the corner, scowling at the growing throng of reporters. When she spied their approach, her face twisted into a sneering smirk, and her eyes honed on Rita.

"Oh excellent, just the little lapdog the situation requires. Go on," she gestured out to the crowd, "be a good little grunt and make them back off so we have some space to make our entrance."

Reeve scowled, but no quicker could he tell Scarlet off than Rita responded with a graceful, "Of course, Madam Director." Dutifully obeying her directive, Rita stepped toward the media throng.

Reeve spun toward Scarlet, fuming. "She's not your assistant to boss around."

"Oh, come off it Reeve.” Her crimson lips twisted into a wicked smile as she brushed errant blonde hair from her face. “Besides, she takes direction from me _so well_. It’s a shame Old Shinra gave her to you, instead."

Reeve huffed, not bothering to correct Scarlet’s misremembered history, and turn from her and back toward Rita, who seemed to be mildly successful in her entreaties to the gathering crowd to give some space.

“By the by, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Scarlet would claw his attention back by any means, it seemed, “why are you sending your little puppy-dog to visit the Turks?” Her voice, sickly sweet, contained an air of threat. Reeve could not forget Scarlet’s role in pushing out the previous Head Turk; she had wanted the whole of their department…disposed of all together.

“I’m sure if you really want to know, you can take it up with Rufus,” he remarked coolly. Scarlet’s ice-blue eyes narrowed, her suspicion piqued but not daring to ask any further. She didn’t have the new President’s ear in the way she had the former.

Reeve went back to ignoring her, refocusing on Rita, though he knew it would raise Scarlet’s ire. His assistant always had triggered some strange hatred in the Weapons Director. He’d more than once mused on why…but, well, now wasn’t the place for that.

Staring back at his assistant successfully managing the growing crowd, the thought struck him that it really wasn't her role to play. Both Reeve and Scarlet were perfectly capable of handling this crowd. They were simply choosing not to.

Once again, he’d let Scarlet wield her influence while he stood by, doing nothing.

Disgusted with his complicity, he marched out toward where they'd gathered, ignoring Scarlet's confused protest behind him. He'd taken no more than a few steps before a vision of pristine white flooded his view. Rufus, flanked by General Heidegger, approached the throng. Confidently, the new President weaved through the gatherers, who'd wasted no time in pulling out their cameras to capture his portrait. In a smooth motion, he leaned to whisper something into Rita's ear, then in debonair fashion, lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. Cameras flashed frantically. Reeve's heart stopped. Beside him, he heard Scarlet’s irritated scoff.

With a gracious bow of her head Rita departed, leaving Rufus to address the crowd.

As she made her way back toward him, Reeve noted the rosy flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks from the attention. Silently, Rita took her place just off to the side of the dais, not looking at either him nor Heidegger, then Scarlet, and finally Palmer as they climbed the stairs.

Rufus' remarks were perfunctory, at best. It seemed clear to Reeve the man didn't truly want to be here—he was more interested in the _next_ leg of his journey, beginning with tracking down Sephiroth.

Still, the new President played his part well to the admiring throng, seeming a mix of charming and fierce. His role in the spectacle satisfied, the President joined the other executives on the dais, and Heidegger proudly marched forward, his military badges glinting in the sunlight. With a swift motion of his arm, the soldiers gathered in front of them stood at attention and began to march.

All seemed well at first. The soldiers marched proper and proud, performing their first demonstrations with with coordinated poise.

But the third wave of soldiers were different. Reeve noticed straight away the soldier in the middle of the line moved at the barest clip slower than the rest. Perhaps this would have gone unnoticed, had the cadets not been called to perform their rifle routine. Under such scenario, even a clip slower had...pronounced effects.

With each errant twist of the rifle, Heidegger fumed a deeper shade of puce. Reeve tried not to display his pleasure at the man's discomposure too openly. As the soldier bumbled his way through their routine, Reeve found himself pityingly turning away to glance at Rita. This did not help matters. She stood stone still, as if willing herself to not crack under the obvious temptation to laugh at Heidegger's ill-concealed agitation. As if sensing his gaze, she turned to look at him, biting her lip to stifle her obvious giggle.

The sight nearly prompted Reeve to break. Only Scarlet's hiss to, "Keep it together, Reeve," helped temper his impulse. A wise thing, as well—the cameras stayed evenly split on the parade as well as the Executives.

He bit his lip and blanked out his expression, steeling himself as an image of composure for the cameras, allowing himself to steal one final glance at Rita. She winked.

As soon as the formalities concluded and the throng of media dispersed, Reeve stepped from the dais and into the alley with Rita.

There, they cracked, clutching their sides.

“Did you see Heidegger? I’ve never seen him so purple—”

“You didn’t see Rufus,” Rita cut in, wiping her tears from her eyes, “he kept looking like he was going to smack the General—”

“Well,” Reeve’s chest felt light for the first time in days, “this certainly isn’t going to help Public Safety’s reputation.”

Still laughing, they wasted no time bothering to say goodbye to any of the other executives, instead turning down the pier to head toward the square where the helipad sat. Felix already waited for them, their bags packed (Reeve's load lighter) and waiting for them in the chopper. They'd been away from Midgar long enough; the other executives would saunter away to Costa del Sol to start the hunt for Sephiroth.

They, however, were responsible for reconstruction. Midgar could wait no longer.

As they huddled into the helicopter, Rita smiled at Reeve, seeming brighter than she had before she'd come to Junon. "I promise to not nap on you on the ride back."

He reveled in the warmth of her arm brushed against his. Things between them would be okay, after all. "Unfortunately,” he joked, “I don't think I can promise such a thing in return."

"As if I would hold you _napping_ against you, sir."

"True," he laughed.

* * *

Two days passed before Reeve received a vibrant pulse down his mindlink: Cait Sith arrived in Gold Saucer, quite enjoying the spectacle the amusement park had to offer. Sitting in his office, mindlessly doodling on his notepad, Reeve couldn't help but chuckle. He sent a gentle tug of his own back, to temper the cat's spirits.

**_Stay focused._ **

**_Everyone here's jus'_** **playin' _. What a wondrous sight._** Cait Sith curled against the giant moogle he now sat astride, a giant stuffed robot Reeve had haphazardly slapped together. **_An' I like the new ride. Tseng mentioned it was quite the pain to transport here. But, och, I can play so many more things now!_**

In spite of his exasperation, Reeve smiled. How could he blame the cat, fun-loving at heart? He really needed to find a way for Cait Sith to have a better outlet for play.

**_Tha's right! A wee bit o' time never hurt—_ **

**_I didn't mean_ ** **now.**

Before he could respond, Cait Sith spied a broad-shouldered young man with a large tuft of blond hair.

The target.

Accompanying the man were two women. Without a second thought, the cat began bounding toward them. Reeve tugged _hard_ on their connection.

**_What are you doing!? You're supposed to lay low, don't make contact._ **

**_Trust me. We need information, aye? I have a plan!_ **

Cait Sith made contact. Though the man seemed reticent at first, Cait Sith's persistence seemed to charm his companions, rather than irritate.

"I'll tell yer fortune! Whadda'ye say?"

"Oh, c'mon!” A woman in pink chuckled. “Let's do it, Cloud!"

To Reeve's utter astonishment, this worked. Cait Sith offered to show the group around the Gold Saucer and charmed by the cat, the woman in pink looked imploringly at the man. "I don't mind the extra company!" As she motioned Cait Sith to follow, she smiled brightly, and Reeve didn't tug discouragingly to stop him. "It's nice to make new friends."

 ** _Friends?_** Cait Sith bounced happily, coloring Reeve's thoughts with rays of shimmering yellow. **_I_** ** _’ve always wanted friends!_**

With mixed feelings, Reeve realized that perhaps he'd _overlooked_ a few required modifications.


	3. The Survivor from Sector 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While digging for clues about Cait Sith, Reeve's assistant unearths more secrets than she bargains for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really enjoyed exploring the dynamics of AVALANCHE, particularly as it concerns the Mayor and Reeve. The plot thickens here - enjoy!

Destruction perhaps came easier than creation, but creation nevertheless came easier than _cleaning up_ destruction's mess. To the UrbDev team's credit, they tended to their work in Sector 7 efficiently, rearranging the rubble and clearing away concrete piles. Stray cats roamed in the alley nearby, occasionally creeping out to mewl at the workers, hoping to beg of them a scrap of food or attention.

At dusk, the crew hung their helmets and called it a night. As they departed none of them noticed the woman, clad in athletic gear and well-worn gray sneakers, sneaking by. Satisfied she remained unseen, Rita stepped out of the shadows to better survey the wreckage.

She didn't know why she returned yet again, the 5th night in a row since Junon, slipping in after her late sessions with Elena. Was she beginning to fancy herself a Turk? How foolish, Rita knew. Of course, wasn't that her life now? Ceaselessly foolish, increasingly absurd?

Rita looked up at the gaping maw of empty space where the plate once hung. The lights from the uppercity muted the star-littered sky; Rita could hardly see any from here in the slum. Not that she could see much on the plate, either. She looked back down to the pitted ruins scattered beneath her. Scaling the charred debris, Rita ignored the growing scuffs on her shoes in favor of noticing that the climb didn’t exhaust as much as she expected—the labors of her training seemed to already bear fruit.

As she climbed, Rita searched, scanning the shadows, hoping to spot…

 _There!_ A wisp of a shadow, that of a cat's tail. This was her chance. She scurried forward, turning the corner to find—

A cat. A real cat, black, on _four_ legs, and decidedly _not_ wearing any cape.

Rita cursed.

She couldn't stop thinking about her encounter with Cait Sith. There had been so many questions that arose in her mind as soon as she’d lost sight of him—did he have anything to do with Shinra’s death? Or the company at all? The day they’d met, no sooner than Reeve had dismissed her early did Rita race to the pier hoping to find the cat again. No luck. A quick jaunt through the city square proved futile, and Rita resigned to telling herself that what she needed more than finding a stuffed autonomous cat-doll was _sleep._

Even now, she remained half-convinced it wasn't real at all, but a _dream,_ a product of her rest-deprived mind.

Yet here she was still not sleeping, spending her nights in Sector 7 searching—for what, she didn't even know. A figment, a whisper, a memory of childhood—a harbinger of dread. The cat's presence had followed terrible events. Yet it also preceded the parade, which by all accounts was happier than Rita expected, even if it had come with the embarrassing spectacle of being caught on camera under the attention of Rufus.

Yes, Cait Sith told her fortune and as she walked away from him she felt strangely... _hopeful?_ For the first time in a while, anyway. Now, though, days had passed since she'd met the so-called King of Cats, and she'd seen neither cape nor crown. She wondered if she ever would again.

Rita retreated toward the bustling undercity, pulling her gray hood up to better hide her features from the crowd. Ambling along graffiti-ed alleyways, she read the tortured neon scrawl of invective spewed against the ShinRa Electric Power Company. Flares of angry color, the residents’ hearts poured into art. She felt a pang in her chest. Rita thought by coming here, she'd find information. But five evenings spent wandering the slums in her bout of insomnia had yet to reveal to her any real answers to the questions that kept her awake. Instead, her trips only added to her complicit guilt.

Who _created_ Cait Sith, and why? ShinRa? Maybe the Turks? But Reeve met with Tseng shortly after their arrival in Junon, and Rita had seen the cat _during_ that time. _No,_ she shook her head, it didn't seem to align, that the cat was with the Turks. It was so...un-Turk-like.

What about Rufus? Technically, the first night she saw Cait Sith was the night he became President. Something more was going on, Rita knew as soon as he smirked at her and pressed his lips to her hand in Junon. Since then, Rita had tried to spy on Deputy Hart to learn more information—with little luck. She'd also learned nothing more about his collaborator, though now the stranger's harrowing words held deeper meaning to her _now._ That day he'd spoke with Hart, Mr. Gray mentioned a _survivor_.

In fact, when she visited with Reeve to first survey the sector ruins days ago, Rita had seen such a man. It had been as she wandered near an open window, when the sound of sobbing had stalled her. Covertly peering inside a shack, she saw a young man in heavy bandages. The man cried as he clutched a red headband in his grip. He lamented friends. Rita hadn't caught the first name he said, but the second... _Josie,_ was it? No. _Jessie._

Her heart had clenched, pained for this stranger's sorrow and grief. It was the last thing she'd registered before hurrying back towards the car, trying her best to ignore Reeve's polite entreaties lest she breakdown in the square. Of course, to her mortification, she still broke down in front of her boss.

The acidic memory made her shudder in embarrassment. Rita pushed away the sour thought and refocused on the task before her.

One way or another, she would find answers—in the form of Cait Sith, or a crying survivor.

Several hours of searching yielded neither. Rita sighed once more, walking along a lamp-lit stretch of alleyway. She'd hoped any scrap of information would give her greater insight into the strange things she'd observed, especially about her grandfather. Papa just wasn't himself. He seemed more ragged these past few days. And he'd canceled lunch on her twice, but refused to give her any details when she'd asked. He'd also steadfastly refused her entreaties to offer him any help. Typical.

Her grandfather was only the beginning of her troubles. Reeve had been staying later too, and per usual deflected her repeated offers to stay as well. Exasperation clouded Rita's lungs, thick and heavy; her breath felt ragged, almost painful. _Something_ had shifted among both her grandfather and boss. And they weren't saying what.

So how would she ever learn _more?_

" _The simplest answer is to act."_ Cait Sith's fortune drifted into her mind. Sure, _simpl_ e. As she trudged back toward the upper plate, where her apartment and little-used bed awaited, she couldn't help think:

_Act how?_

* * *

Rita arrived early the next morning, in spite her exhaustion and late prowling the night before. She still had much to do—the Sector 7 clean-up required far more work. She witnessed that first-hand, thanks to her evening visits. The past few weeks had wrought enough damage to the city's infrastructure to ensure Rita would be arriving early for the next year, in all likelihood. And she expected this to the be case for Reeve, as well.

She approached the Director's office, surprised to find a cracked door and voices carrying from out of it.

"I can't say for sure," Rita heard Reeve. "Please sir, you must understand—I certainly didn't expect any of this."

"It's a message, Tuesti." Rita insides iced over. _Papa._ Why was he here? And why did his tone sound so...harsh? Wary? She couldn't quite pin the emotion contained therein. Rita hovered near the door, but she did not knock.

"A...message?"

"Think about it. New president. Wants to make a statement to his Leadership Team, and with us this is two birds with one stone. I'm sure he's finding other ways of riling the other Executives, too."

"Perhaps," Reeve sounded reticent.

Rita couldn't blame _him_. What was her grandfather thinking, speaking like this to one of the company Directors? How _brazen_ , borderline reckless _._ Rita therefore blamed _herself_. Her position enabled the over-familiarity—she'd need to speak with Papa about this overstep.

Of course...she needed to know what the message _was_ , first. But all she could hear was the rustle of newspaper, and Reeve's weary sigh. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Mister Mayor. I'll...keep this in mind."

Rita heard the shuffle of footsteps and, with a thumping heart, moved before she could be caught spying. "Good morning," she chimed, hoping not too loud as she pushed the door from ajar to fully open, careful to balance her tray of morning coffee. She paused as she saw them, and did her best pretending.

"Mister Mayor," Rita addressed her grandfather and hoped her breathlessness didn't give her away, "this is certainly a surprise."

Both men had the decency to appear abashed at being caught mid-conversation.

"Ah, Rita! What timing, the woman of the hour," her Papa adopted an affectionate air. She steeled herself to not show her suspicion. But then—

"What do you mean, 'of the hour?'"

Her grandfather extended his arm out, and with slow reluctance Reeve relinquished a newspaper he'd been holding. Then Papa unfolded it for her to view. Rita's heart plummeted.

Plastered large on the front page in black and white, _herself_ and Rufus Shinra, his lips pressed to her hand. The headline read _New President Inaugurated_ with the sub-headline stating _Makes Debut with Mystery Companion_.

"That's not true!" Rita exclaimed, indignant upon registering the front page. "I just happened to be there, I didn't expect him to- to do _that_." Her Papa looked as if he were fighting a grin. Reeve pointedly didn't look at her, instead taking great interest in the fern nearby his desk.

"And here I was just asking the Director if you received a new _promotion_ I didn't know about," her grandfather's fib sounded so smooth that if she hadn't overheard part of their conversation prior, Rita would have easily swallowed it whole. She spared a glance at Reeve, who had turned to Domino sharply upon the older man's response. "He assured me that isn't the case—and I suppose now you've confirmed it." Domino's affable air unsettled her. How easily he lied to her, and pulled Reeve along for the ride.

Unable to continue looking at him, Rita looked back at the paper. The image clearly captured her surprise. To see this printed in the planet's most prominent publication...

"I'm so embarrassed."

"You have nothing to be embarrassed by, Ms. Spencer," Reeve rushed to say. "If anything, _I_ should be embarrassed. I should have been the one to handle that crowd."

"And then perhaps it would be _your_ hand being kissed on the front page of the paper, Director," Domino chimed in, and in spite her anger at him she couldn't help herself. Both she and Reeve laughed at the Mayor's joke. Having lightened the mood, Papa capitalized on his chance. "Well, I had best leave you busy people to your work. Walk me out, Mouse?"

Rita reddened at his blatant use of her nickname so publicly, doing her best to ignore the smile threatening to creep across Reeve's face. She walked with Domino toward the exit, her anger spiking.

As soon as she closed the door behind them, she pounced.

" _What_ was _that_?"

"What?" Her grandfather dared to play dumb. "Oh, is it because I used the nickname? I'm sorry, you know I can't help it sometimes."

"If you have a question about me, you need to speak _to me_. Not my _boss_." Rita's nostrils flared in irritation.

Realizing his misstep, her grandfather's demeanor shifted. "I meant no offense, Rita." He looked pained. "I paid the Director a social call this morning. The photograph naturally came up—he'd just gotten his copy of the paper." Even now, Rita felt uneasy, worried his words were tainted by half-truths. But she didn't _know_ for sure. If only she'd arrived moments earlier.

"Please don't do that again," Rita aimed to keep her voice level. "The last thing I need is for an Executive to think I'm unprofessional."

Her grandfather failed to fight the smile forming on his face. "Rita, I'm sure if anything I've only hurt _my_ standing, not yours. As if you don't know the Director thinks quite highly of you."

"Well, I'd like to keep it that way."

"Of course, dear. I'm sorry." His smile looked apologetic. "I don't suppose you still want to meet for lunch?"

Rita relented. "Yes, we can meet, Papa." She bid him goodbye and watched him retreat down the hall with a twisting knot in her heart before reentering Reeve's office.

Even before she approached his desk, she'd broken into apology. Yet she found herself preempted.

"Ms. Spencer, I apologize—"

"I'm so sorry, Director Tuesti—"

They both stared at each other a moment. "Why are _you_ apologizing, sir?" Rita's brow furrowed in her confusion. " _My_ grandfather was inappropriate."

"He's...concerned for you. But you have every right to be upset at us speaking behind your back," Reeve's face looked slightly flushed, still abashed.

Rita felt her own face grow hot. "I didn't mean to accuse you of—it's just, I don't want people thinking that my grandfather is unduly influencing my career."

"I understand. Though Rita," she always perked on the rare occasion he used her name, "you should know, your reputation is sterling. No one doubts your abilities."

She grew warmer. "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all. And again— _I'm_ sorry. The Mayor and I were both...caught off-guard, by the photo." Rita glanced down to the paper still on his desk and frowned.

Her grandfather had mentioned _Rufus_. Said that the photograph was a message. But what message did the new President want to send her grandfather _and_ Reeve? It wasn't as if he had any meaningful connection to _her_. And now he was off, to Junon and beyond in search of AVALANCHE. It wasn't as if he were keeping tabs on her.

"Why publish it now?" Rita dared to see if the Director would reveal his hand, supply even the tiniest morsel of information. "It's nearly a week later."

"I don't know," Reeve's voice sounded tired. "Though, it _has_ been a slower news week than last." He made the effort to give her a weak smile.

"True enough." She tore her eyes away from the photo, hoping she shielded her disappointment with his response. "Well, this will make lunch delivery to Felix interesting today. He'll never let me hear the end of this."

"If he gives you that hard of a time, let me know, I'll tell him off for you."

"As if _that_ will do anything," she let her lips slip into a smile. And in spite of her conflicted feelings toward him, it pleased Rita to see that at least she'd salvaged the beginning of this strange morning by making Reeve laugh. 

* * *

At 11:30 sharp she grabbed the lunch order from the café to rush down to Felix before meeting Papa. It was a long-standing arrangement from their early days as new assistants to Reeve; Felix joked early on with her they needed to stick together, and for her part, she enjoyed his company. In truth, Rita would have preferred to eat with him today, but...we'll, she couldn't back out with Papa now.

"Quick drop off today," she hurried to say as she spied Felix leaning against the car in wait. As she approached, his lips split into a toothy grin.

"And I'm sure _this_ has nothing to do with that, hm?" He waved his copy of the day's paper, Rita's shocked face emblazoned on the front of it. She rolled her eyes, tossing his bagged lunch to him.

"Believe it or not, _no_. But I'm meeting the Mayor and I—" Rita stopped. Deputy Hart's _collaborator,_ Mr. Gray came into view. He crossed down the stairs and plaza, toward Sector 1. The man appeared harried. Rita calculated. This was a chance to learn more. If she followed him, where might it lead?

This train of thought abruptly crashed into another—a man with a red-bandanna marching up the stairs toward the building.

_The survivor from Sector 7._

Without another word to Felix, Rita took off, following the man into Headquarters. He lingered in the lobby for a moment, taking in the blinding signs and bustle of employees rushing to lunch. Then he made his way toward a lift.

She didn't have a plan. But something moved within her—perhaps Elena would call it _instinct_. Whatever the thing, Rita trusted it. She intercepted the stranger.

"Excuse me." As she came into his view, the man's eyes brown eyes widened, perhaps from surprise at being addressed so forwardly. _Good._ Rita could use his nerves to her advantage. "I noticed you're not an employee. Can I help you?"

The man floundered a moment, unsure what to say, so Rita pressed in a different way. "Are you… _looking_ for someone?" The man didn't answer, seeming to not know how. Rita tried one more time—a bolder tactic now. Lowering her voice for his ears only, she dared ask, "Are you from the _Wallace cell_?"

He froze. The man scrutinized her, seemingly sizing her up before answering with a slow, "Yes."

"Perfect." She hoped her voice still sounded even and firm. "Come with me." She grabbed him by his wrist and led him toward the stairwell—a place she knew they wouldn't be seen.

Inside the drab dark corridor, she pulled him down a flight toward the basement. Then, dipping into her courage, Rita spun and pinned him with her gaze.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice conveyed a confidence she didn't entirely feel. But at this point, she needed to continue the charade. Whatever the Wallace cell was, she needed to pretend she was a part of it—or at least, knew enough about it for him to trust her.

"I need to talk to the Mayor."

Rita's insides lurched. She hadn't expected _that_ answer. She'd expected him to perhaps ask about Deputy Hart, or the mysterious collaborator. But her grandfather…

"Why take such a risk?" She asked, voice careful and slow. Rita could practically feel Elena's voice coaching in her head: _Act like you know what you're doing. Even if you don't._ "Why not go through the safer channels? It's not wise to just show up."

"Domino won't answer." The man flared with irritation. "I haven't heard _anything_ from anyone. What's the silence for?"

It dawned on Rita though her sessions with Elena certainly honed her meager skills, she'd still trapped herself in a dark stairwell with a strange man and no weapons. Rita considered her next words with precision, ignoring her pounding heart. "Things are delicate right now. We can't draw attention."

The man huffed. "Yeah, yeah. You can't say _anything,_ huh?" He shook his head. "You could have at least given us a heads up about the Op to take out the President. We almost got caught up in the crossfire—what does that accomplish?" He scoffed. "At the end of the day, we're all AVALANCHE."

The final puzzle piece slid into place and the cold dread gripping Rita disintegrated to burning anger and fear.

_AVALANCHE._

_Papa is working with AVALANCHE_.

She couldn't linger on this thought. The man still looked at her, expectant. "You're right," she said slowly. "I'll make sure to deliver the message to him."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I'm his granddaughter," Rita answered without fully thinking, and she cursed herself once she finally did. It would have been better for her to remain _anonymous_ in this encounter.

"Woah, really?" The man's eyebrows raised in shock. "I didn't realize—" he considered her a moment before extending his hand. "I'm Biggs. I'm- I'm the only one left from my cell."

The ache Rita had felt when she first saw him in Sector 7 returned. "I know. And I'm sorry." She clasped his hand. "I'm Rita." The man's grip felt firm, but not dangerous. Yet she still felt unsettled. "I understand why you would choose to come here, but you really should stay away. It isn't safe to show your face here." If he truly knew her grandfather, then him coming here put them _both_ in jeopardy.

Biggs sighed, features weighed by weariness. "I just wanted to talk."

"I understand." Rita patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Like I said, I'll help you out."

"You'll make sure he gets back to me?"

"Yes," Rita nodded. "I promise—if _you_ promise to stay away."

Satisfied, Biggs nodded. "Yeah. I promise."

"Good. C'mon, follow me," Rita waved and he did, both of them carefully exiting from the stairwell to the outer perimeter. "If you head off behind employee parking you should be able to avoid cameras," she directed him, "the less you're seen, the better."

"Thank you," Biggs looked like he wanted to say something else to her, but thought better of it. In quick motion, he went off into the shadows.

Rita, now _quite_ late _,_ hurried to meet her grandfather. As she finally arrived to lunch, gasping for breath, he merely laughed at her. "Busy day?"

"You could say that."

"Listen, Rita," he started immediately. Looking at him, she could see the lingering guilt that resided in his expression; he truly felt bad for their earlier encounter, it seemed plain. "I need to apologize again. You're absolutely right, I overstepped with the Director, and I'm sorry for that, you deserve more consideration." He pressed his palm to his chest, "I promise to not do it again."

Rita smiled. "Thank you, Papa. I appreciate it." And she did. But doubt still niggled in the corner of her mind, the memory of Biggs so fresh. "Papa...is anything else going on?"

An overly broad question, she knew. But still...it would be the best chance she had at opening the door to this conversation.

Her grandfather's face turned ashen. Seemingly to compensate for his discolor, his eyes crinkled and he smiled overly-wide. "No, nothing at all, Mouse." Once again, the lie left his lips so smoothly. Her heart sank. Domino dipped his head, lowering his voice. "And _you_? Perhaps something exciting in the way of secret trysts with Presidents?"

She couldn't enjoy his spirited joke. Rita wanted nothing more than to come clean, to pin him with the truth and force him to answer her questions.

...No. That wasn't right. Rita actually yearned for a return to _before_ , the relationship that existed prior to her spying on him in Reeve's office. Prior to learning he was helping a group that just assassinated a man. Telling him about her unexpected meeting may have caught him off-guard and made him spill answers, but it wouldn’t keep Papa out of harm's way. Especially not if he actually _did_ have a hand in the President's death.

Likely the opposite, in fact.

Her conscience riddled with images of bed-ridden Biggs sobbing and promises made, Rita finally answered, "No. Nothing at all."

* * *

Rita arrived at the Turk's training gym nearly spent from the long day only to find the newsprint of herself and Rufus peppered across the gym walls. Groaning, she glared at Elena, who couldn't contain her smirk as she raised her training pads to reveal copies of the photo taped to each.

Rita huffed as she quickly taped her wrists, now practiced from her new nightly routine. Then she settled in, starting her stretches and loosening her limbs, all the while trying to ignore Elena's gloating grin.

Perhaps on a different day, Rita would have taken the jest with the lightness its giver intended. Instead, laden with thoughts of Papa and Biggs—and how Rufus was connected to them both—Rita felt sick. She debated for a moment not even showing up—but then, what suspicion would that raise among Elena? Or worse—Tseng?

It had occurred to her, as she changed into her workout gear, that perhaps Rufus knew of her grandfather's involvement in AVALANCHE. The Mayor's relationship with Old Shinra had been…tenuous at best. What had once been a youthful friendship had soured over the years as their friendly power jockeying gave way to the ShinRa Company's oligarchical rise. To save his own limited position of power, Domino had struck a deal, one that netted him a seat at the table and guaranteed reelections so long as he desired it—and proved his worth to the company.

Her grandfather had grown frustrated by his lack of real authority and bitter from his best friend's betrayal. She could only muse this drove him to the terrorist organization. She knew his anger festered, but _this?_ Rita never imagined he'd go to such lengths. But perhaps, bred as he were of his cunning old man, Rufus Shinra would have no trouble imagining such a thing.

...the only hitch in her hypothesis was Reeve's role in it all. For all that he'd expressed his disdain of the company's methods, Rita doubted he seriously join AVALANCHE in bombing his _own_ reactors. She'd witnessed firsthand the sweat and blood he'd poured into his work. No, there was still a missing link connecting him to her grandfather, _and_ the new President's strange actions.

The corner of Elena's training pad nudged Rita's head. "You in there?"

Annoyed, Rita swatted the pad away, then in one smooth motion jab toward the other— _POP._

 _"Ohk_ ay, someone _is_ in there—and apparently feels feisty!" Elena raised the other pad to her face to block Rita's next punch. After three minutes of uncharacteristically aggressive jabs, the Turk asked, "Are you all right?"

"Just fine." Rita punched again, barely beginning to feel the addictive burn that came from the rigor of training.

Elena snorted. "You're clearly _not_." She dropped her arms to her sides, prompting Rita to stall herself. "Wanna talk?"

Rita glowered for only a moment before getting into her stance and attacking again. "This isn't about the pictures, is it? I just meant it as a joke—"

"No," Rita halted. "It's not...it's not just that." She tried to clear her head, but it alit in anger. She didn't know what to make of any of the things happening around her—worse, had no one to trust. "It's just some family stuff."

"Family stuff?" Elena looked almost sympathetic. "I can relate. They can be...tough."

Rita sighed. "That's one way to put it." She tried not to meet Elena's eyes. Rita _couldn't_ tell her about her grandfather or Biggs, no matter how friendly the Turk seemed. If _any_ Turk found out about AVALANCHE…

The room felt suffocating. Rita stepped away from Elena. Crossing over to the fountain, she drank—and shielded her face. Rita refused to let her emotions betray everything. She drank deep and long, feeling the cold water pass through her and sooth her from inside out.

When she finally turned around, Elena looked stone-eyed. "Are you ready?"

Rita nodded.

"Good." With a curt nod, Elena raised the training pads.

Taped with glossy cellophane sheen, new pictures—Scarlet's sneering visage, dulled by newsprint.

Rita burst with laughter. She laughed from deep in her belly, tears stinging at her eyes.

"Thought you'd like this one," Elena smirked.

Gasping for air Rita responded, "How'd you know? Not a fan of the Director, either?"

"You could say it runs in the department," Elena shrugged. "Happened before my time here, but Scarlet had a lot of bad blood with Veld and the rest of the vets."

The name sparked in Rita's mind the memory of a name scrawled on a notepad on Director Tuesti's desk. "Veld?"

"Former boss of the Turks. Scarlet drove him out, Heidegger bumbled to take over, and...well..."

" _Ah_." Rita's memory came into sharper focus; Reeve had mentioned Veld several times over the years, though to what specific end, Rita couldn't recall. Of course, she'd mused on the subject in the past—why was it that the Director of _Urban Development_ seemed to have such a chummy relationship with ShinRa's Black Ops where even _Public Safety_ and _Weapons Development_ did not? Like all her other questions, it had yet to be answered.

"Now," Elena pounded the Scarlet-emblazoned training pads together, startling Rita from her thoughts, "let's _really_ begin."

* * *

When tallied, Rita had only trained with Elena for a few days, really. They'd missed some time while Elena had made a sudden quick expedition to somewhere Rita still didn't know. But since the Turk's return they'd trained together nightly. And each night, Rita progressed at a rate that left even Elena surprised.

"Tseng said he thought you'd be a good learner," Elena panted between blocks, "but I have to say, I think even he would be impressed. And he is _not_ an easy man to please, though it feels so good when you do."

At the sight of Rita's eyebrows rising to her hairline, the Turk uncharacteristically blushed and stammered. "That didn't come out how I meant."

"Of course not," Rita indulged in her own smug smirk on behalf of her partner's expense. Elena huffed.

" _You_ shouldn't talk."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh please!" Elena barked. "You're taking combat lessons to protect _your_ Director. Just that _dedicated_ an employee, huh? Nothing more?"

Rita's face felt stove-hot, and her right hook flew wide, giving Elena an opening to charge her. Off-guard, she tumbled backward with a grunt of pain, pinned beneath the Turk.

"Get off."

"Admit it. You're crushing on your boss."

"No more than you are."

Because she could, Elena ground her weight further into Rita, pressing heavy onto her chest. Rita groaned. "Fair enough.” Elena smirked above her. “I guess we're both hopeless wrecks, then. But I like that we have that in common." Then, she gave a slight pout. "At least your boss likes you back."

"What makes you think that?" Rita panted.

"Oh, please. I saw you both in the hallway after our first session. I'm not blind—unlike you, apparently."

Rita didn't respond, looking off into the distance at the newsprint littered around the room. She didn't usually let herself dwell on such thoughts. She steadfastly ignored the _somethings_ she occasionally observed—the way Reeve smiled when she entered his office some days, or the warmth of his 'thank you' and the way his gaze lingered when she brought him more tea…

Her eyes grazed over the photograph. What did Reeve _actually_ think about this photo? Her brain churned even further. _What does Rufus think?_ She wondered.

"What?" Elena's voice sharpened.

Realizing she'd spoken aloud, Rita gestured toward the photo. "Why would they print it? He and I have hardly spoken…usually the press doesn't fawn so publicly about the _President_ in that way." Rita looked up where Elena still sat atop her. "What do you think, Ms. Special Agent?"

Elena's face looked inscrutable. "Beats me."

"What would Tseng think?"

Elena rolled off Rita in abrupt motion, her face turned away. "I'll let _you_ be the one to ask him. He's sort of _busy_ at the moment, tracking down terrorists and all." There was no denying it, the edge in Elena's voice made Rita's hair stand on end. "Actually, on that note, I have something to tell you."

"Something bad?"

Elena turned back around, half-sympathetic smile now on her face. "Not as bad as you're probably thinking but…I have another assignment. I'll be leaving Midgar soon. And I'll be gone for a while this time."

"Oh." It wasn't at all what Rita expected, but she felt a twinge of sadness nonetheless. Though she still felt on guard around the woman, she nevertheless felt a kinship with Elena. "So, training is done?"

"Well, you have all the basics you need from me." Elena pulled from her back pocket a keycard. "Tseng cleared you to come train down here, if you want. It'll be empty for the most part, we're all gonna be away for a bit." Stunned, Rita took the card. It was one thing to be granted official access to any of the Turk's facilities. But the way Elena so casually dropped that hint of information--

" _All_ of you will be gone?"

"Well, yeah." Elena shrugged. "AVALANCHE is the priority right now."

The Turks were leaving the city, following the group who'd wreaked havoc on headquarters. They didn't _know_ about any others still in the city. The knot of fear in Rita's stomach unwound. Papa would be safe. And the Turks were only trying to help Rita, not hurt her.

"I'm sorry to see you go," she told Elena. "Will we continue when you get back?"

"I expect to." Elena slapped her pads together again, Scarlet's glossy visage crinkling. "Now. Let's get back to _work_ , Ms. Spencer."

* * *

Relishing the dull ache settling into her bones after showering off, Rita headed to Reeve's office for her final rounds, making sure to drop off the end of day reports and preparing for tomorrow's slog.

As she approached, however, the sound of loud shouting alarmed her. She rushed forward toward the door, worried sick with wonder at who was inside with Reeve. Listening closer, she realized there was no one else—Reeve's conversation was one-sided, as if over the phone.

"But—!" his strangled voice cut off, and in the next moment, she heard a crash of objects and papers over a roar of frustration. Then he cursed, his Kalmland brogue out in force.

Ten years was a long time to know someone. In all that time, Rita had never heard Reeve so _angry_ —couldn't remember a time when he'd been angry at all, certainly not enough to slip his accent. Disappointed, even recklessly outspoken, sure, but this enraged? She wasn't entirely prepared to see him like this.

Rita waited some moments more for the din on the other side to quiet, to calm, before she lightly knocked. He would know it was her; beyond him, only she ever worked this late.

After a stretch of silence longer than she liked, Rita heard Reeve's voice in hoarse response: "Come in."

She did, slowly, steps soft and tentative. The Director faced away from her, hunched over his desk, arms rigid as they pressed his palms to the surface beneath him. Papers had scattered from around his desk, or more likely had been knocked away by a phone being angrily thrown. File organizers sprawled on the ground, bleeding contracts.

Even as she approached, Reeve did not turn to her. Not knowing what to say, Rita focused on the tangible in front of her, and scooped to grab the papers. She'd shuffled around on the ground for not more than a few moments before Reeve knelt beside her.

"No, you shouldn't have to—"

"It's okay, sir," she nudged her elbow to his, hopefully comforting.

He didn't say anything, only avoided her eyes, keeping them low and trained on the mess he made. She stopped her moving, instead studying the dark circles under Reeve's eyes, the deep furrow of his brow. Belatedly he realized her staring.

"C'mon," she grabbed his hand and stood, ignoring the remaining documents scattered about. She pulled him toward the leather couch and together they slumped, Reeve's head leaning back to rest, eyes closed. After a moment, Rita asked, "Want to talk?"

"...No." He sounded bone weary.

"That's all right. You should rest. I'll take care of tidying."

"No, Rita—"

"I mean it, Director." Realizing she still held his hand, she gave it a squeeze and let go to rise. "You take a few moments. Cat nap." She winked playfully, both knowing that if he fell asleep, Rita would leave him to much longer than just a short nap. Reeve seemed too weary to protest. Instead, as he leaned backward his eyes fluttered a few moments, and then his breathing evened out.

Satisfied he slept, Rita silently slipped over to finish her task. He'd made a mess, that was sure. Fortunately, his system for categorizing and filing was so efficient, it took little time for her to pick up most of the contracts.

She rounded his desk to grab the remaining loose papers from where they'd flown, only to see something that stalled her. Heart thudding, she glanced over to where Reeve lay still on the couch. He was out.

Rita crept nearer to his desk, hovering over a sketchpad with a drawing. It looked like a doodle, something etched lovingly and practiced, not the first time either.

A cat. On two legs. With a cape. And a crown.

_Cait Sith._


	4. The Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena delivers the 'leverage' Reeve must use against AVALANCHE. Turns out, she's quite the handful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm certainly intrigued by the idea that we'll see more of Reeve and Marlene's interactions in the remake. This is my spin on that.

Reeve awoke stiff-necked with the embers of last night's anger still burning in his belly. Rubbing his brow, he forced himself to stand. The office swam around him as tiredness settled into the crannies of his body. Strangely aware of how his blood pulsed, he felt deep aches that came from sleeping _just_ little enough. Hazy images filtered through his mind as his link with Cait Sith adjusted to his conscious state.

The job was supposed to consist of just _watching_ AVALANCHE. _Not_ intervening. Of course, he blamed Cait Sith. Yet, when Reeve reluctantly reported this development to Tseng, the Head Turk was all too eager to capitalize upon it. Disrupting Sephiroth's growing power—and meddling—had become the new priority for the company. One that AVALANCHE could, even inadvertently, help them defeat. Or so Tseng had explained.

It was a struggle to toggle tasks, Reeve had to admit. As Cait Sith traveled with new companions, Reeve found himself often dipping into their shared mindspace to covertly observe the members of AVALANCHE, becoming utterly drained in the process. He hadn't known what to expect of the group.

They were nothing like what he could have predicted.

The flower seller Reeve knew, though not personally. How many board meetings had the Executives spent planning about Ms. Aerith Gainsborough, the last Cetra and key to their promised 'Neo-Midgar'? Too many for him to count. But Reeve hadn't expected her to be so openly cheerful toward Cait Sith. Guilt washed over Reeve. How many board meetings had he sat by, saying nothing to protest the _awful_ fate his colleagues planned for this woman?

Too many to count.

Then there was Red XIII. Reeve felt grateful for the separation between him and the fiery beast via Cait Sith. The talking…creature, as it were, looked threatening on his four paws, occasionally growling mistrustfully of the others, showing sharp teeth. Truthfully, Reeve hadn't _known_ much about Hojo's antics in the research labs, not really. But now, through the mindlink he spied firsthand the evidence of Hojo's twisted cruelty, written in jagged scars across the beast's body. Cait's time spent with Red—the creature was strangely protective of Cait's smaller body—so far only added to the heavy pang Reeve felt. To hear Aerith and Red allude to their time imprisoned by ShinRa, even implicitly...

Reeve thought perhaps he'd ease his guilt in finding fault with these so-called 'terrorists'. But what could he find? Tifa, barmaid from the undercity, seemed nothing but loveliness, her gentle-nature winning over Cait Sith in an instant. Even Cloud, prickly and hardened as a former ShinRa SOLDIER (FIRST Class, he insisted), inspired trust. He also seemed driven by warm curiosity about the cat, a trait Reeve appreciated.

As the group raced the continent to escape ShinRa and catch Sephiroth, they'd picked up new members eager to help them save the plant—and cause ShinRa pain. Mostly the latter. That the young ninja from Wutai had joined them didn't surprise Reeve—in truth, he quite agreed with Yuffie's position on the war his company waged against her country, though he had little chance of advocating against it in the boardroom. But both Cid and Vincent surprised him. Not that they hated ShinRa—those positions made perfect sense after they'd shared with the group their awful histories with the company. No. It was that they had been on the _inside_. Just like him. And now, they were _out_.

Finally, Barret Wallace. The leader of the Wallace cell of AVALANCHE in title, if not entirely in practice, thanks to Cloud's presence. Reeve had wanted desperately to dislike the man—the boasting, bellowing, bear of a man. But could he really? The man with a gun for an arm, given to him by the woman Reeve sat next to in the boardroom.

Scarlet never had told Reeve what happened years ago in the Corel mining town. Of course, around that time, Scarlet had stopped telling him much of anything—a byproduct of no longer sharing a bed. Reeve had overseen installation of the town's new reactor to mine the mako-rich land. Scarlet had overseen the enforcement of the town's…compliance with the project. And Barret's testimony of Scarlet's conduct was too jarring to ignore.

 _Yeh know,_ Cait Sith pulsed along their connection, _the more time I spend with 'em, the more I like 'em._

Reeve couldn't disagree. His colleagues in ShinRa were pillaging for a mythical 'promised land' that would yield them abundant energy upon which to capitalize, to further fuel their greed. These new friends...they were fighting for their freedom. For their families.

Barret's image flitted into Reeve's mind, through Cait's link.

 _"He has a daughter_ , _" Tseng's voice sounded smooth and cold over the phone._

_"What?"_

_"She's been staying with a sitter in the undercity. She's part of the plan."_

The memory of Reeve's late-night phone call with Tseng lit the fire inside him once more. What the Turks were asking him to do... 

He tried to tidy up, straightening his tie and combing out his dark hair with his fingers. His beard felt unkempt—he'd need to make a point to hit the washroom soon as he could. Crossing to his desk, Reeve found all the papers he'd disheveled back in their reordered state, file organizers stacked back into place. He muttered a thank you to Rita, wherever she bustled about now.

Guilt seeped into him again, beyond what he was about to do to AVALANCHE. His conduct last night in front of Rita was beyond the pale—no matter how angry he'd felt after Tseng's call. From her timid approach, it seemed obvious she'd heard his outburst. And then he left her to clean up his mess while he slept! Och, he could practically hear his mother chiding him on what a right stupid _eejit_ he'd been. He owed Rita an apology.

Pulling out his phone, Reeve saw the time was nearly eight o'clock in the morning—unexpected. He hadn't realized he'd actually slept so long. Even more surprising was the fact he'd not seen any sign of Rita. Usually, she would have arrived by now, even to silently deliver a coffee.

A feeling of foreboding swept across him. On his phone he pulled up her contact and to send a message to her, but then stopped. He didn't want to make her feel pressured to come up to his office; he needed to seem casual. He typed: _I'm sorry about last night. But I am glad to have rested. Thank you for your encouragement. I'll see you when you get in._

His thumb hesitated before pressing send. When he saw Rita in person, Reeve vowed to make a better apology.

* * *

Rita didn't come. Nor did she respond to his message.

Reeve spent the day in agony, shuffling from meeting to meeting distracted, barely holding back his growing nausea as he braced himself for what still was yet to come this night.

And still no sign of Rita. He thought again about sending another message—a back and forth battle he'd waged in his head all day. Yet, he worried how she would receive it.

Rubbing at a knot in his neck, Reeve winced as a flood of acrid memories rushed over him. He could only imagine what Rita thought of him. Beyond his failure to save Sector 7, Reeve had no control over his department and was utterly beholden to the new President and the Turks. Not to mention as of late he'd been recklessly unguarded—falling asleep on her, losing his temper and making a mess of his office, openly criticizing his superiors in her presence, failing to control Cait Sith...

Well, that last one she didn't know about. He shuddered to think of the chaos that would come if she did.

Before Rita became a fixture in his life, Reeve had burned through assistants at a clip too quick for him to count. None could keep up with his long hours and chaotic work demands—until Ms. Spencer, that was. Having grown up in the limelight of her grandfather's political endeavors, Rita long practiced the skills she needed to serve as Reeve’s most trusted deputy. But though she'd long kept up with the whirlwind within Urban Development, Reeve knew now something between them was beginning to fray.

He glanced down at his desk. Yesterday's newspaper sat enthroned above a mountain of contracts.

_"Care to explain, Director?"_

_Caught off-guard as Reeve was by Mayor Domino's tone, it was nothing compared to the shock of the paper thrust into his face with Rita's visage in black-and-white, wide-eyed and lovely on the front page._

_With Rufus._

What could he have said? The moment in Junon had surprised Reeve as much as anyone. He'd spent the week sleeplessly willing the image out of his mind only to find it memorialized in newsprint by week's end.

And the Mayor, though short in stature, seemed imposing in that moment. As City Manager, disappointing the Mayor was bad enough. That the Mayor happened to be Rita's grandfather made the matter all the worse. Reeve felt a near-filial duty to answer as honest as he could. But no answer would be good enough.

_"It's a message, Tuesti."_

A message, indeed. It was only well after both Mayor and granddaughter left Reeve's office that the true weight of Domino's words sank in. Rufus would be watching Rita. Sick with dread, Reeve finally realized _how_.

The sharp knock at the door startled him. Without warning the door swung open, and Elena walked in.

Reeve's phone rang. Elena's brown eyes narrowed, and she gave him a curt nod. With trepidation, he answered.

 _"Has Elena arrived?"_ Tseng's tone sounded far too casual for Reeve's liking.

"Yes."

_"She has the delivery?"_

He hadn't noticed at first; perhaps he'd subconsciously tried not to look. But Reeve looked now at the small shadow cowering behind the blonde Turk. The young girl, no more than four, curled into herself, sniffling and biting down sobs.

Reeve felt sick as he answered, "Yes."

" _And is the keystone in the group's possession now?"_

AVALANCHE had just conferred together; Cait's memory was fresh in Reeve's mind, Cloud declaring he’d found their coveted object. "Yes. At the Gold Saucer."

_"Then I'm on my way there now. You have your instructions. I expect Cait Sith to meet me with the keystone. We need to be able to get to the Temple of the Ancients by morning—before Sephiroth does."_

"I can't—"

 _"You can. If you need anything else, speak with Elena, she'll be around for a few hours yet—saying farewell to Ms. Spencer, I presume."_ The implication hung heavy, and Reeve made no sound. _"I'll call soon. Make sure Cait Sith steals the keystone. And be ready with the girl."_ Then Tseng hung up.

Biting down his frustration, Reeve looked frantically from Elena, down to the crying girl, back to the Turk again. Elena's face looked passive, completely unmoved by the distress of the others in the room.

"This is kidnapping!" The protest felt raw and hot in his throat.

Again Elena betrayed no emotion in the face of his impassioned cry. Reeve felt pure rage. "Rita trusted you," somehow he spat out the words through his clenched jaw. Elena's face twitched, but her expression remained stoic.

"You have what you need." Turning to the small girl, Elena adopted a caustic air. "Well, Marlene, _this_ is Mister Tuesti. He's your babysitter." Her nose turned upward, as if she had exhausted all her patience for the sobbing child. "See you later. Maybe."

Then with cold grace, Elena turned on her heel and left Reeve alone with the young girl crying for her daddy.

* * *

Reeve hardly had experience with children. He quite liked them, to be sure. But his career left him little time to think much on the prospect, beyond the occasional project to better the lives of the city's _wee bairns_ and his mother's patient smile when she asked _Have yeh met anyone_? during visits.

So when confronted with the terrified girl's terrible tantrum, he felt utterly lost. The girl wailed, throwing her body to the floor and thrashing madly, her cries earsplitting. Reeve tried to goad her into a drink of water. No avail. She kicked away all his attempts to pacify her.

Marlene only subsided after Reeve arranged a generous offering of his finest pens and sketchpad across the coffee table—along with a heaping handful of butterscotch candy swiped from Rita's workstation. The candy soothed her to hiccuping, and distracted by the doodle of Cait Sith he'd drawn on the top page, the young girl followed Reeve's example and quickly found herself lost in the task of sketching cats with crowns.

This gave him space to think.

Reeve didn't know how exactly to pull this off. While there could be no doubt his priorities lay in serving the Turks, he _did_ still have an entire city to administer. And now, apparently, babysitting _on top_ of spying on a terrorist cell. He couldn't do it all. Not without help.

His phone pinged. Pulling it from his pocket he saw a new message from Rita: _I'm right outside._

Then the office door handle jostled, and Reeve's heart stopped. All day he'd heard nothing from her, and _now_ she chose to make her entrance? He needed time to head her off, to _explain_ what was going on.

Too late. Rita arrived, thick stack of files in hand. As she entered, Reeve knew everything seemed off. Tension thick as a cloud of mako vapor hung around her frame. Her face looked tight, eyes puffy and tired. Spotting Marlene, Rita froze, brows furrowing with concern. He could only imagine what she was thinking, about who this young girl could possibly be, and how exactly she came into Reeve's...custody.

"What's this?" Rita's tone sounded light, but the smile she'd plastered to her face uncomfortably reminded him of Scarlet—hollow and fake.

Marlene looked up placidly from her drawing to say, "This is kinapping."

Rita snapped toward Reeve, alarmed.

"I can explain."

She glowered with an expression unfamiliar to Reeve. She stepped away from him—and toward Marlene. For a moment of silent panic, Reeve realized that if she drew any nearer, Rita would see the sketching of Cait Sith, despite Marlene's scribbling over it. Yet Rita didn't move any nearer to the girl, stalling midway between them.

From there she asked, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

Marlene turned to her with a studious expression. After a moment, the girl smiled more happily and trustful than Reeve had seen her so far, answering, "Marlene Wallace!"

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, Rita stepped toward the coffee table, placing her files down, and then sank to her knees—still at a distance from the girl and her sketchpad, but now at her eye level. "Marlene, how did you get here?"

The girl sniffled. "The scary lady brought me."

"Scary lady?"

"She was wearing the same clothes as the bad man with the mole." Marlene pressed her small finger to the center of her forehead, unmistakably referencing Tseng. "He took my friend."

Rita's brow furrowed at this information, but Reeve saw the dawning understanding rise in her eyes as she turned to ask him, "Elena?" in a soft, pained voice.

Reeve crossed over to her now, offering his hand to help her stand again. "I'll explain everything," he said in a gentler tone this time, motioning his head toward the corner of the office, away from Marlene. With a vacant expression, Rita nodded and stood, shuffling away. 

Before he joined her, Reeve turned to Marlene. "Here," moving to block Rita's view, he took the sketchpad and turned the page so that the drawing of Cait Sith was out of view, "a fresh page for you, Marlene."

Reeve moved away from the girl and toward Rita. His assistant wrapped her arms around herself tight, breathing through flared nostrils. He thought back to the sight of Rita and Elena exiting the Turks training room, smiling and sheened by sweat. The Turk had ingratiated herself into Rita's circle of trust—for nothing more than a ruse, one his assistant couldn't even begin to understand. She hadn't asked to be dragged into any of this.

"Ms. Spencer—" he began, but she looked up at him and pinned him with a fierce stare.

"How long have you been working with them?" Her whisper sounded strangled.

"It's not like that."

" _Don't_ lie."

"Ms. Spencer," Reeve took a tentative step forward but his assistant shrank from him. He stalled, heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. She seemed terrified right now—of _him_.

"I promise you, I didn't know about this plan." Evasive, he knew, but admitting he'd helped the Black Ops group on and off for quite some time, even before the new president, would not help his case. "And nothing like this has ever happened before."

Rita's eyes darted to Marlene then back to Reeve. "What do you do for them?"

"They're trying to track down AVALANCHE, I'm just helping them with this. Marlene—" he weighed whether to say but, well, too late now, "her father is in the group. They want my help to watch her for now. Then, they'll use her as a way convince AVALANCHE to cooperate with ShinRa." This was all true. Though it was certainly not the whole truth Rita searched for, but the merest morsel of information to sate her curious appetite.

The expression of her face told him she knew it, too. But instead of making any reply, she took a deep, shaky breath.

"I can't be part of this," she stifled a sob as she turned to leave the room.

The notion that Rita him would leave struck fear into every nerve of Reeve's body. Unthinking, he roughly grabbed her upper arm to stop her. "Wait—"

Before he registered movement, her body responded. Rita twisted from his grasp and swung him 'round, shoulder ramming against him with such force that Reeve flew backwards, pinned to the wall under the pressure of her forearm pressed to his chest.

They both stared at each other, silent. Eyes wide, Rita seemed as shocked as Reeve by the automatic act. And Reeve was no small part shocked by just how _efficiently_ his assistant manhandled him. Neither moved.

"Well," Reeve finally breathed, "looks like training's paid off."

A million emotions seemed to flutter across Rita's face, and Reeve regretted that so many seemed filtered through the spectrum of _anger_. Then, her demeanor shifted, and like a panicked chocobo, Rita scrambled backward and toward the door, forgoing her files and ignoring Reeve's protest to stay.

Reeve looked from the door to the little girl, whose wide brown eyes bore into him with a seeming knowledge beyond her age. It unsettled him to his bones. But she said nothing—not that she needed to.

Along his mindlink, the string threading him to Cait Sith began to quiver violently, and he saw filtered through a hazy picture the scene unfolding: a glitzy chase along gold hallways, AVALANCHE trying to stop Cait Sith and watching helplessly as the cat tossed the stone into Tseng's waiting hands. Through his link, Reeve heard the Head Turk's voice warning the group to stall any effort to hurt the cat-spy. At least, until they heard what _leverage_ ShinRa had…

In Midgar, Reeve's phone began to buzz, Tseng's ID blaring on the screen. His heart ached, his mind desperately wanting to push away the enraged faces of the near-friends he'd just betrayed. He answered the phone, stepping toward the couch.

"Marlene"—where Reeve found the strength to speak, he didn't know—"would you like to talk to your father?"

* * *

The conversation had been quick, the single cry of "Papa!" changing AVALANCHE's tenor as they negotiated with ShinRa. With bitter reluctance, they conceded the keystone peacefully to Tseng and promised no harm to Cait Sith, whom they had no choice but to allow to remain with them until Marlene's safety was assured.

Upon realizing she wouldn't actually get to see—or speak with—her father, Marlene threw a tantrum bigger than Reeve had ever seen, longer and louder than he could even imagine such a tiny child being. He thanked his lucky stars that it was after hours and most office staff had already left. The girl carried on for so long, and with such ferocity, Reeve worried she would pass out from exertion.

Then, of course, there was the backlash he felt from the _other_ end of his mindlink. Now that his betrayal had been laid bare, AVALANCHE responded by shunning Cait Sith with cold, brutal estrangement. Reeve barely had the wherewithal to focus the cat's strategic response in the face of AVALANCHE's outrage at the manipulation—or help Cait Sith shy away from Barret, whom Reeve felt sure would rip the doll's stuffed head right off, given the chance. It didn't help that Marlene's earsplitting shrieks resounded in both of their brains, and loudly enough that Cait Sith's ears curled, despite the continent and seas between them.

Reeve forced himself to focus. Not wanting to prolong their mutual misery, and in desperate need of rest, Reeve scooped the small girl into his arms, gently rubbing her back as she cried hot tears into his neck and smacked his arms in limp protest. He trudged toward the lift. "For what it's worth, I'm so sorry," he whispered into her dark hair, but she responded with nothing but wailing.

Reeve felt exceedingly grateful his apartment was located on premises. The arrangement had been one borne of practicality due to Old Shinra's exacting demands of his Executives. Simply put, it was easiest to provide lodging where the President could call his subordinates to his side at a moment's notice. This had the benefit of allowing the Executives to be on-site late hours or early mornings—and the double-edged sword of overwork, as Rita would often chide. For now, Reeve counted his blessings, thankful he only needed to carry the crying Marlene for the length of an elevator ride.

At his apartment, the wee lass was no better. Now numbed to his entreaties that she draw any more pictures, Marlene flopped violently onto the couch, heaving against the fine black leather and crying painfully. As she sobbed, Reeve raided his pantry to take stock of supplies. Woefully inadequate, he found—the curse of a bachelor subsisting mostly off of HQ's café.

"Marlene, would you like a peanut butter sandwich?" In spite of the loud sob in reply, Reeve made the meal anyway, placing the plate on the low coffee table as an offering for when Marlene finally tired herself out. Though, at this rate, it didn't seem she would abate soon.

The ache in Reeve's head grew. From the other end of the line, a sharp, mistrustful retort from Yuffie stung at Cait Sith, the pain of it reverberating within Reeve. He'd not last long, needing to toggle his focus like this.

Desperate, Reeve turned on his little-used television, scrolling until he found—"Ah, Marlene, would you like to watch _Lil' Stamp_?"

She looked up at him, red-eyed and pink-nosed, and glared. "Daddy says Stamp is propergander."

Reeve sighed. "He's not wrong," he muttered under his breath.

But as the first notes of Stamp's theme began, the happy chorus of " _Bow wow wow, bow wow wow, he's a good boy who never stops"_ , Marlene calmed, drawn to the cheerfully drawn puppy dog in his military regalia prancing across the screen. Only a few minutes in, the girl became placid, grabbing her sandwich and munching on it as she watched Stamp save his friends and the day.

Exhausted and relieved, Reeve collapsed onto the couch next to her, vaguely taking in Stamp's adventures, making no argument when the episode ended and Marlene clapped her hands and called for more. Fine by him. They'd watch Lil' Stamp all night if it meant keeping the girl happy.

Episodes later, he'd lost track of how many they watched, but Marlene's playful spinning and singing Stamp's song around the room was a certain improvement from how she was before. Yet the pain boring into Reeve's head only grew, his tiredness seeping into every inch of his body…

A sharp knock resounded at the door. Marlene froze mid-spin, turning to stare at him, curious about their unknown guest. Reeve wracked his brain. The only people who had access to this floor were Executive Directors...

And their assistants.

With sweating palms and a pounding heart, Reeve rose to open the door.

There stood Rita, face contrite, with black duffel slung over her shoulder and a grocery bag in the other arm. "May I come in?" Her soft voice sounded nervous, as if worried about the trespass.

"Of course," Reeve swung open the door for her enter. She'd been to his apartment before, but always on official business. This…well, he didn't know what this was.

So entranced by Rita's arrival, Marlene failed to notice yet another rendition of Stamp's theme song as a new episode blared on the screen. Instead—"You're back!"—the girl bounced with exuberance.

"Yes, Marlene," Rita smiled. "I wanted to check on you." Her answer sounded so simple, yet Reeve felt stung—not that he had any right. Rita dropped her bag to the ground before kneeling beside Marlene, and eying the TV. "Oh! Do you like Lil' Stamp?"

"I like his song," the girl admitted happily. Then, "It's propergander," Marlene nodded matter-of-factly, "Mister Tweesti said I wasn't wrong."

Rita bit down on the smile creeping across her face, allowing herself to share with Reeve a brief, conspiring glance. "No, you're not," she admitted to Marlene with a small grin. "Well, if you're a fan of Stamp"—Rita reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a Lil' Stamp coloring book and box of vibrant pencils—"maybe you'd like this?"

The girl's eyes looked wide as saucers, and eagerly she snatched at Rita's gift and began to bring to hue the black-and-white outline of her new furry friend. Their charge now distracted again, Rita placed on the counter top the bag and began unloading: more coloring books, some puzzles, a small purple toothbrush with paste, a pink nightgown, Lil' Stamp bubble bath and shampoo, a small array of children's nail polish, and finally, a storybook. Reeve's face must have looked incredulous, because Rita snorted.

"I had a feeling you could use a few supplies."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he breathed in genuine relief, but he immediately regretted doing so once he spied the way her face twisted in conflict. "Ms. Spencer, I need to say—"

"Not now," she shook her head, looking over his shoulder back at Marlene. "We take care of her first. _Then_ you say whatever you 'need'."

Fair terms, he agreed with a relenting nod.

Whether it was Rita's gentle presence, or the exhausting day finally catching up with the girl, but not long after she started coloring Marlene's yawns grew more pronounced, the slump of her small body greater with each passing moment. Perhaps sensing he was entirely out of his element—or perhaps worse still, not trusting him outright—Rita took the lead to bathe the girl and prepare her for bed. To make himself useful, Reeve prepared his spare bedroom, not that there was much he needed to do—fully furnished and sparely used beyond storing his extra reports and paperwork, it lacked any semblance of welcome or warmth for a young child longing safety.

Yet when Rita guided Marlene to the room by the hand, the girl's eyelids already drooped. Scooping the girl into bed, Rita looked at Reeve pointedly. "I'll stay here to read Marlene a story. See you in a few minutes."

Pained, but unable to argue, Reeve retreated to the other room, slumping down on his couch and trying to fight the throbbing in his head.

And he waited.

* * *

Swaying. That's what he felt, a gentle sway back and forth, jostling of light and sound, and then—

Reeve opened his eyes to see Rita jostling him, concern etched on her face. "Normally I'd let you sleep, but I'm afraid you're not getting off the hook that easily tonight."

"Rita!" With a sharp inhale, Reeve bolted upright, rubbing the sleep from his face. "Ms. Spencer, I'm _so_ sorry—"

"That's a start," she sat down opposite from him on the couch, expression still wary and conflicted. Mistrusting. They stared in silence for a moment. "I suppose I should apologize too." Rita cut in, looking suddenly abashed—"For- for slamming you into the wall..." The tips of her ears turned pink.

"I deserved it," Reeve rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease a thick knot of painful tension. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"How did it?"

"The President," Reeve exhaled, the truth bitter on his tongue. "I didn't have much choice."

"So Rufus asked you to help the Turks. With babysitting." She looked and sounded incredulous. Better than her expression at hearing the _whole_ truth, he mused.

"Yes," Reeve answered.

Rita remained silent, her expression inscrutable. Reeve felt nervous beneath her piercing gaze. Finally, she spoke in a low voice: "What about Cait Sith?"

Reeve's stomach plummeted, the world around him beginning to spin. _How on Gaia...?_ "What are you talkin—"

" _Don't_ lie. Not to me, _please_." Rita didn't just look angry with him; she looked desperate, more hurt than Reeve could ever remember seeing her before in the decade they'd worked together. " _You_ created him, didn't you?"

Silence hung between them, stretching tortuously until in a panged voice, Reeve finally answered, " _Yes_."

She inhaled deep and slow. "Is he part of all…" she gestured with her hand, " _this_?"

"Yes." Reeve _couldn't_ tell her about his Inspire ability, still couldn't risk a secret so large while still so near Hojo's sphere of power. But he could give her just enough. "You might call him a doll or toy, but his robotics are complex, and his intelligence quite vast." _As you know,_ he barely managed to bite down on the final part of his thought.

Rita rose, and he worried she would turn to leave again. But instead she paced the room, fists clenched tight, white-knuckled. "What do you use him for?" Her whisper sounded strained.

"He's keeping an eye on AVALANCHE. That includes Marlene's father." Reeve admitted, releasing a slow breath.

"So you're a spy."

She still didn't look at him, but Reeve could feel the anger radiating from her body. He made no reply. Emboldened by his silence, Rita spun toward him. "And you were spying on me, too."

"No, Ms. Spencer—" Reeve jolted to stand, looking her square in the eye. "That's not what happened."

"I _saw_ Cait Sith in Junon!"

"No- it's not—" he pinched his brow to push down the pulsing ache in his head, before saying, "I can explain."

"So you keep saying," she scoffed. He'd never seen the lines in her forehead so creased, the color in her cheeks so high.

" _Please,_ Rita." Perhaps it was the invocation of her name that made her stall. But she paused for the briefest moment, and he didn't wait any further. "Cait Sith has a mind of his own. I oversee him"—Reeve danced around his words—"but he still can act as he wants. Junon was a mistake. _I_ wasn't spying on you. He wasn't even supposed to be near you. He was just…sightseeing," he finished, though that last excuse seemed rather pathetic.

Rita though, almost seemed…amused, though her anger seemingly had not abated. "So, you created a state-of-the-art machine you have no control over?" She quirked an eyebrow. "That _does_ sound like you." The bite in her words, the too-pointed reference about his creation of the mako reactors…Reeve knew there was no doubt she intended her words to sting. And they did. She'd never lashed out at him like this. She crossed her arms against herself, biting her lip.

"I promise you, I haven't spied on you."

"But I saw Cait Sith outside of Junon, too."

"I didn't know," Reeve answered, completely honest this time. "I didn't realize, and neither did Cait Sith."

"Then why did he seek me out in Junon?"

Reeve sighed, afraid to answer. "He…wanted to meet you. He knows about you, from me. He's just curious, that's all." Rita's shoulders slumped, her hardened stance against him melting into a soft expression. And then, _there_ , the barest of smiles gracing her face.

"He did make me laugh."

"Yes, he can be quite the character." Perhaps it was because Reeve couldn't contain his annoyance at the doll's antics, but Rita chuckled, the smog of tension clouding her diffusing.

For a moment.

"What will happen to Marlene?" Now her eyes looked wary.

"I am not going to let anyone hurt her," he rushed to reassure; it was a mental argument he'd already had with himself, should Elena return. "I promise you, Rita." He took a single step nearer, and she allowed it unflinchingly.

Rita pondered a moment before speaking. "She could stay with me, in my apartment. HQ is no place for a kid."

Reeve shook his head. "No. I can't risk you becoming any more involved."

"I'm already involved," she snapped. And then her face seemed to break. "This whole time, Elena—" she took a deep breath to recenter, before asking, "did you know that's why they were training me?"

"No. At least, not at first," Reeve admitted as he slumped back down onto his couch. Rita joined him, slowly sinking into the space beside him. "It wasn't until this evening when Elena dropped her off that I put it together." He paused a moment, hesitant to bring it up, but—"The picture. In the paper, with Rufus. That was—"

"A message."

Her answer came so quick and flippant Reeve stared. Rita shrugged. "I…admit that I overheard you and my grandfather discussing that. But," her nostrils flared, "I don't understand _why_. Why me? _"_

Could she really not put it together? "Because I care about you, Rita." Her head snapped up, eyes and mouth wide, and Reeve lost his nerve. "You're my closest ally in the company, and that makes you easy to use against me," he hedged his statement, and willed himself to not believe that her eyes cast downward in disappointment. They settled into an uncomfortable silence, one Reeve knew was his responsibility to break. "I'm sorry, Rita. I'm so sorry for dragging you into all of this."

"You didn't entirely drag me. I sort of half-walked into it." She deadpanned in response, rolling her shoulders and neck with a wince. "And I don’t suppose I'm leaving anytime soon."

"What do you mean?"

She glanced half-incredulously at him, then to her bag on the floor. "All due respect, Director, but you can barely manage the whole department when you're _not_ babysitting, and even in that you need my help. So I'm staying.

Relief washed over him, warm like sunbeams. "I don't deserve you, Rita."

"Perhaps," she raised an arch brow in response, crossing to the spare bedroom. She paused in the threshold and turned to him. Rita's eyes looked more open and less hostile than before, but wariness had choked away the trust once rooted within her. "Have a goodnight, Director."

"You too, Ms. Spencer."

Dazed, Reeve pulled himself up from the couch. Somewhere, across the continent, AVALANCHE drifted off into uneasy sleep, Vincent offering to take first watch with a specific eye turned menacingly toward Cait Sith. The poor cat curled until himself away from the rest of the group, his loneliness pressing heavy on Reeve's heart. Or maybe that was just Reeve's loneliness.

He collapsed onto his bed, haphazardly kicking away his shoes from his feet as he did. Reeve stared at the ceiling, taking in a deep sigh and trying to ignore the sad, blue pulse humming across his mindlink.

He flipped, burying his head in the pillow, and finally screamed.


	5. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marlene's new babysitter makes a promise to AVALANCHE, and breaks a few to ShinRa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite excited for this chapter! I adore Marlene...and a few of the others who show up here, too.

Still-ripening daybreak peeked through heavy drapes, dappling Rita's face. Here in HQ's Executive Apartments, overused black and red velvet curtains drowned the light, muting it in thick plush folds—so unlike how rays filtered into her apartment bedroom. How strange it was, being in her boss's spare room.

She'd slept fitfully, waking in a state of panic in frequent intervals to reach over and ensure Marlene still lay safe at her side. When she hadn't been sleeping or worrying about the girl, she'd been replaying the past 24 hours in her mind, turning over each twist with a growing knot in her stomach.

Had it really been only one night ago she'd seen the drawing of Cait Sith on Reeve's desk? She'd hardly slept _that_ night either, running through the chronology as she frantically cross-referenced her schedule and journal jottings, trying to fit all the pieces together. Reeve. It had been _Reeve_ all along, sneaking for the Turks. How could she have not noticed this? The connection to Tseng, the early visits from Rufus, Cait Sith's _accent_ for Gaia's sake!

Rita felt monumentally stupid.

And now armed with this new revelation, she had nowhere to go. She thought such information should have completed the puzzle, but no. This development only added to her questions.

Did Reeve know about Papa? Worse, had he been using _her_ to watch her grandfather—perhaps at Rufus' request? She thought about the Mayor's morning visit to Reeve, flooding with guilt. Did Papa lash out at Reeve to protect her?

In her anger, she resolved to stay away from Reeve the next day, unable to face him nor able to stem the bruising sting of his betrayal. Instead, Rita found her sour self hiding in the Corporate Archives, working at a spare terminal and keeping a watchful eye for her grandfather to exit his office—and mindful of any guests visiting. She hadn't seen Deputy Hart or the mysterious Mister Gray in a while, and wondered if they would show themselves at the archive soon.

But when neither guest nor grandfather appeared, Rita had found herself further frustrated. Refusing yet to retreat to Reeve's office, she found any task to excuse her from reporting upstairs. By day's end, though, Rita realized she could not escape dropping off the compiled reports to her supervisor.

Rita waited for the elevator to be surprised by Elena exiting it, preparing to leave for her assignment. Rita swallowed down her complicated feelings toward the woman, the words "Good luck" feeling hollow in her mouth.

Of course, all that dissipated when she had finally come upon what waited in Reeve's office.

A sigh from Marlene drew Rita from her thoughts on the past day, and she glanced over the pillow that separated them on the queen bed. The girl's eyes fluttered but didn't stir any further, and the sound of her soft snoozing comforted Rita. She rubbed her eyes, burning with tiredness. Rita thought she'd been angry with Reeve _before_ , when she realize he'd withheld the truth about Cait Sith. But to see the young girl in his office, to realize it was part of a larger scheme with the _Turks_...

Rita had honestly thought when she raced from his office down to the steps of HQ that she would _never_ return. She meant the words she'd professed: she could not be part of something so heinous as kidnapping, not now, not after the plate. In her agitation, Rita had failed to watch her step, colliding directly with a man.

From the comfort of bed, Rita winced at the ungraceful memory; her only fortune in that moment was that it had been Biggs with whom she'd collided.

_"Whoa there," he steadied her, but upon realizing who she was, frowned. "Well, well. Just the person I came looking for." Rita's head spun, hardly having recovered from the bombshell she'd escaped in Reeve's office. She gaped at him, unspeaking._

_For reasons she couldn't know or understand, Biggs did not press her vulnerability, but instead put a steadying hand on Rita's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"_

_"I need some air," she managed to gasp. Leading her by the elbow, Biggs directed Rita to the sidewalk._

_"All right then. Let's go for some air."_

The sun had been setting, Rita remembered. The reactors were just beginning their nightly venting, exhausting emerald mako vapor to shimmer in the sky. And Biggs' hand felt steadying and warm on her arm.

_They walked several blocks away from ShinRa Headquarters before Biggs finally spoke. "I haven't heard from you," his voice sounded hushed, agitated. Rita sighed._

_"No."_

_"Why not?"_

_She bit her lip, not answering right away. There were too many lies piling upon her, and she was drowning._

_"Why did you join AVALANCHE?" She finally asked. Biggs eyes widened, surprised by the question._

_"Like you have much choice, when you come from under city." He lowered his voice, leaning casually to speak into her ear as if he were pretending they were just a couple out for a nightly stroll. Clever ruse—best not to be overheard. "ShinRa is slowly killing us. They pollute our air and water. They deny us jobs, access to basic needs. I needed some way to make a difference."_

_She didn't respond, and Biggs felt emboldened. "A friend of mine. Her dad worked for ShinRa, too. Wanna know how they repaid him? The words 'mako poisoning' mean anything to you?" Rita's heart dropped. She'd assisted with more than a few HR matters concerning the issue among the employees who worked directly in the reactors. She looked away from Biggs' burning gaze. "Oh, and then they dropped_ his _house on top of_ mine. _" He sneered._

_"I'm so sorry." She choked out the words. "And I know that probably doesn't mean much to you, but I am."_

_"Yeah, well, you're right. It_ doesn't _meant much as long as you keep me in the dark about the main cell."_

 _Her stomach lurched. She had to come clean—and that meant telling_ someone _what she knew. With no one else to trust, beyond all reason, Rita trusted Biggs._

 _"I'm not in AVALANCHE," she bowled past his shocked expression, "I only found out my grandfather was from_ you _." Biggs gaped, lost for words, and Rita continued. "I'm finding myself torn between groups. And I don't know what to do." She hated the sting of tears that burned in the corner of her eyes. Usually, she found it easy to school her expression into cool, unyielding slate, to not betray how she really felt. But her emotions overrode her now._

_"I work for ShinRa. And I knew about—that the plate was going to drop. I couldn't do anything to stop it. When I went to the site afterward, I saw you injured and crying," Rita admitted. "That's how I knew to follow you when you came here last time. I had heard that someone from your cell survived, and I_ _…put things together."_

_Biggs swallowed hard, head bobbing in comprehension, tension cording in the muscles of his neck. "And then what?"_

_"It's my boss," her voice sounded no louder than a whisper now. "He's working to find AVALANCHE. And I'm worried about my grandfather." She finally looked Biggs square in the eye. "I'm so sorry. I didn't say anything to my Papa. I thought that if I didn't tell him about you, maybe I could protect him. And you." She shook her head. "I'm so stupid."_

_He didn't say anything, not right away, but he did sigh long and deep. "So, that it?"_

_"Not quite." She winced. She knew what was left to be done. "It's Marlene_ _…"_

_His head snapped toward her, eyes wide as saucers, brow furrowed in anger. "How do_ you _know Marlene?!"_

_Rita forced herself to not take a step back in fear. "Sh-she's your leader's daughter, right?" Rita trembled. She didn't know the man's full name but, "Marlene Wallace. We have her." Her mouth felt ashen, heart desperate. "The Turks took her. They brought her to my boss. She's there now."_

_Now, his grip on her elbow grew painful, and she winced and tried to pull away. But the shortcomings of her training were made plain here, in public and in her suit confronted by a man much taller and bigger than she. Rita didn't put up any further fight as Biggs pulled her closer to him._

_"Are they going to hurt her?"_

_"No! I don't think—no." Rita shook her head, but the seed of doubt sprouted in her mind. Reeve had_ promised _her._

_"Who's your boss?" Biggs clenched his jaw. "It's Heidegger, isn't it?"_

_"What? No." Rita shook her head in fierce protest. "I work in Urban Development."_

_Biggs blinked at her. "Urban Development. Not Public Safety?" He frowned, more in confusion than frustration. "Why are they sending goons from Urban Development after us?"_

_"We're not goons," Rita huffed under her breath. "And as far as why, I have no idea. My supervisor says he didn't have much choice_ _…"_

_"And do you trust him?" Hazel eyes bore into her, and compelled her to speak truthfully. Hadn't Reeve shown her she couldn't trust his promises?_

_"I did._ _” Rita admitted. “But now, I don't know anymore."_

_Biggs seemed inclined to agree with that sentiment. His eyes narrowed._

_"Then it's gotta be you." His fingers dug into Rita's elbow painfully. "You said you're sorry about the plate. That you knew and you didn't do anything. Well." He scoffed. "You gotta do something_ now _. You gotta protect that little girl, stay by her side. If you're in the position to—"_

_"You're right." And as she admitted it, perhaps it was in his surprise at her quick agreement that Biggs released her. She massaged her elbow, sure her skin was purpling. "You're right. I have to do something." Rita drew a shaky breath. "I am not going to let anything happen to Marlene."_

_Biggs studied her, saying nothing, before finally nodding. They took off down the square again, settling into a strange silence, one Biggs finally broke. "She likes coloring. And princesses. And nail polish, I think."_

_Rita nodded her understanding, eyes scanning toward the corner general store. "I could probably pick up a few things there. And I think they have some Lil' Stamp themed toiletries." She pointed inside._

_Biggs sighed, shaking his head. "Damn. Barret's gonna be pissed."_

* * *

Rita must have drifted back to sleep because when she opened her heavy eyelids, yellow light now burned brighter through the slit in the dark curtains. She shifted to look across the pillow—

And saw two wide brown eyes blinking back. Startled, Rita jolted back while Marlene giggled.

"You have lots of freckles," the girl chimed.

"So I've heard," Rita rose, stretching the sleep from her limbs. She helped the girl dress, but when it was time for Rita to get ready herself, Marlene shied away from the door, electing instead to climb back into the heavy folds of bedsheets with the book Rita brought. The girl cast only a wayward glance at Rita before delving into the colorful pages. Rita understood; Marlene would not be going out to the common room without her.

She washed and dressed quickly, ignoring the strange sensation of being naked in her boss's apartment in favor of remembering her anger at said boss. It was because of him she was in this mess. Well, sort of. She couldn't be sure the exact combination of involvement between her grandfather and Reeve, but either way, she'd not asked to be dragged into any of it.

Her phone chimed, as if on cue, and her grandfather's name illuminated the screen. A text: _Lunch today?_

Rita stared, hesitating a moment before clearing the message away, and pocketing her phone. Marlene waited patiently, and together they exited the room.

Rita didn't know what to expect, but a full counter of breakfast foods, a carafe of coffee, and a very contrite looking Reeve waited anxiously in the kitchen. He would have had to run down to the café first thing this morning to prepare—probably, like her, had been restless for hours.

In spite her anger, a cooling breeze of gratitude flowed through her, and Rita allowed him a small smile. Reeve's tension seemed to deflate, the breath he held expelled in relief. Marlene squealed in excitement at the apparent array, wasting no time in settling down and grabbing a sticky bun with her small hands. Rita accepted a freshly poured mug of coffee from Reeve with soft thanks.

Marlene seemed content enough to chomp away, but the adults settled into an awkward silence, neither sure what to say. Rita made to look busy by pulling out her datapad and reviewing the day's schedule—at the very least, she knew how to work.

"Looks like you have a fairly full schedule today, sir," she scrolled down the calendar, frowning. “Lots of meetings.”

How were they going to do this? They couldn't have Marlene follow them around all day. Reeve caught her eyes, and then looked over toward the clean white workstation, with a desktop terminal.

“I’ll cancel the meetings. I’ll work from here.”

“No.” She didn’t usually push back so forcefully, but she’d made a promise to Biggs. "I can handle things here." When Reeve looked back at her, shocked, she pressed. “You need to go to your meetings. Don’t worry about me.”

"I'm not worried about you at all, Ms. Spencer," his smile looked kind, and she felt the heat of her ire further dampening. Without further ado, Reeve gathered his datapad and phone and left for his office, leaving Rita alone with Marlene in an apartment foreign to them both. If Marlene felt awkward alone with Rita, it didn't shine through her expression, so clearly contented with her breakfast. Rita left the girl to it while she filtered through her work files, preparing for her day.

Rita's phone rang, jarring her from her thoughts on the latest Sector 7 progress report she'd received. The name on the screen illuminated: _Papa._ Taking a steeling breath, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Rita," her grandfather sounded gruff, serious, and she felt a knot of nervousness wind in her belly. "Are you all right?"

"What?" She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just calling to check in. Is everything okay, Rita?" The edge in his voice grew, and with it, Rita's anxiety.

"Papa, I'm fine." _Does he know?_ Her stomach lurched. _Did Biggs tell him? Would he?_ No, Biggs didn't know how to. "What's going on?"

Her grandfather didn't reply right away, but she heard his deep sigh on the other end. Finally, he said, "I would love to meet for lunch today, Mouse. Could we do that?" Rita glanced over at Marlene, lips iced with chocolate donut frosting and oblivious to Rita.

"I'm sorry, Papa, my hands are pretty full with work today."

"Rita," the edge returned. "What's—"

"We'll catch up soon, Papa"—she cut him off, almost afraid to hear any more—"but I have to go." Ignoring the sound of his protests, she called over him, "I'm sorry!" and ended the call with shaking hands, and willing herself to not look at Marlene, who stared at her with sad eyes.

* * *

_Unrelenting_. No sooner than Rita turned over enough stones to find one answer, she came across a canyon of others, questions sedimenting upon themselves quicker than she could unearth their solutions.

 _Papa_ …his hurt sounded palpable as she ended their call. Rita knew it only came out of care for her wellbeing, though she doubted he could have any idea what exactly she'd gotten herself into now. He'd always had funny intuition that way, worrying about her in times she felt worried herself. Not that she told him this, ever.

Rita thought back to the early days of working ShinRa Electric Power—beyond just the makeshift internship her grandfather had cobbled together for her in the Corporate Archives. Though reluctant to bring her into the fold, by the time she reached adulthood neither of them could deny Rita had little chance of living a comfortable life without cosigning her fate to the company. Grandfather had never liked how well she'd done, how she had _earned_ her place in the ebony tower by making nice and serving as an effective administrative assistant to _most_ of the Directors, until she found a permanent assignment at Reeve’s side. Papa often had warned her to keep her head down, her mouth shut, and to draw no negative attention to herself. Yet he somehow always knew the days when she'd need cheering after a bruising encounter with Scarlet or enduring a humiliation at the hands of Heidegger. His intuition about her bad days rarely was incorrect.

Part of her wished she _could_ see him now. Maybe if she actually spoke honestly, he would know what to do, could help her feel less alone. But the risk to Marlene, and himself, was too great to be not worth the chance.

Ignoring her the pit in her stomach actually came easy once she refocused on Marlene, whom she gently redirected away from another sugary breakfast treat to her coloring books. Satisfied the young girl had sufficient distractions to keep her occupied, Rita slumped down at Reeve's terminal to work.

She'd gotten through no more than a few emails before Marlene's chiming voice asked, "What are you doing?"

"My work. I have to make sure that people get the answers to questions they have." It was the most concise summary of her job Rita could give the girl.

"You answer questions on the computer?"

Rita nodded. "I also read a lot of reports."

"About what?"

"The city, what's happening in it, different things we can do to help people," Rita listed off.

Marlene stared placidly at her, before saying without any hint of malice at all, "Daddy says ShinRa doesn't help anyone. They only hurt people."

The air in Rita's chest fled from her. "W-well,” she stammered, “for many people, ShinRa's hurt them very badly, I know." Rita found herself sinking from the desk to the floor, scooting nearer to the girl. "But, Marlene, there are some of us who really want to help everyone. Including you and your father." Even as she said the words, they rang hollow in Rita's mouth. Hadn't she just stood by while the plate crushed thousands? How had that _helped?_ She thought back to Biggs' words.

"What I mean to say is," she tried again, "it's complicated. A lot of people work for ShinRa because they don't have much choice. Or because it's the only way they can help their family have food or a place to live." She thought about Felix with his war-torn leg and toothy smile. And Ernie, who'd worked in the café even longer than Rita had worked for ShinRa, or Cris, studying for her classes when she wasn’t at the register. "But that doesn't mean you're wrong, Marlene. ShinRa has done a lot of bad things, and those in power need to be held accountable for that." Rita didn't allow herself to linger on thoughts of what that meant for Reeve.

But Marlene seemed a wise girl. Her nose scrunched in adorable scrutiny, and she asked the question Rita refused to. "What about Mister Tweesti?"

Rita found no words to respond. Marlene had the grace to not press the matter, instead grabbing her book, a story on princesses Biggs had strongly recommended. "Will you read to me?" And Rita just couldn't say no to those imploring brown eyes.

On and off, Rita read to Marlene, in between spurts of typing away at the terminal while Marlene colored or watched an episode of Lil' Stamp while casually chattering about her own life—about time spent with her daddy and people named _Tifa_ , and _Jessie_ , and _Aerith and Elmyra_. Rita listened patiently as she could, heeding Biggs' words: Rita had to be the one to protect and care for this little girl. So patiently Rita played pretend and hide-and-seek. Rita showed off her new defense and strength exercises with an eager student of her own, who in turn demonstrated with enthusiasm, “This is how Tifa showed me to kick!”

At lunchtime, Reeve came with bags of food, still awkwardly apologetic. Rita, upon opening her sandwich bag, found her usual favorite perfectly delivered, right down to the packet of dressing on the side. Her heart panged with a feeling she couldn't pin with words.

A decade _was_ a long time to spend together. And no other ShinRa Director would have remembered their assistant's lunch order with such accuracy. No other Director would have cared.

Reeve studied her, no doubt gauging her reaction. As she met his eyes, she allowed herself a smile to express her gratitude. His expression brightened, the circles under his eyes appearing less dark for even a moment. There'd be no time to actually talk, certainly not with Marlene present, but Rita felt the lever of their relationship come to better balance.

As she helped Marlene get settled for lunch, Reeve shuffled off to his bedroom and emerged with a black bag, stuffed with contents unknown to her. She gave him a quizzical look.

"Just something I need to ship out,” his answer came quick, as if sensing Rita’s rising suspicion. “And I've a few more meetings today, but I'll be back with dinner." Reeve directed a smile at Marlene. "Any special requests?"

"Pizza!"

He laughed. "Pizza it is." Reeve made his way to the door, but stalled, clutching at his forehead and grimacing. Out of habit Rita rushed to him, placing a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right, Director?"

"Just fine," he grunted.

"Please take care of yourself, sir."

He managed a wry smile, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Ms. Spencer. I'll be home early tonight, that’s a promise." Casting a look at Marlene, he emphasized, " _With_ pizza." As he left, Reeve's gaze lingered on Rita, and she offered a second encouraging smile to him before he closed the door.

"I like him," Marlene's cheerful voice interrupted Rita's lingering thoughts. "He's nice."

"Yes. Yes, he is."

No sooner had they finished off their sandwiches did Rita pull out the small tubes of nail polish she'd picked up while out with Biggs. Marlene squealed, brown eyes alighting with joy.

"I love nail polish!"

"That right?"

Marlene nodded. "Jessie paints my nails, all sorts of colors."

Well, I don't know about _all_ sorts of colors, but I have a few." Rita outstretched her hands to show the offerings. "Any favorites?"

Marlene needed only a moment before deciding. "That one!" She pointed to a shimmering bottle.

"That's a great choice," Rita said as she twisted the cap.

"Pink's my lucky color," Marlene chirped.

Rita smiled, heart tingling. "Mine too."

* * *

The afternoon went much like the morning, with Rita entertaining Marlene in between responding to emails and finishing her reports on Sector 7. So what if she'd not be as productive as on a typical day? Rita replayed Biggs' frantic entreaty over in her mind: _It's gotta be you._ It wasn't as if spending the day with the child was a chore. Far from it—this had been Rita's best day in a long while. Now she just needed to keep Marlene occupied while the girl waited as patiently as she could for the promise of pizza.

When her phone pinged with the sound of a message, however, Rita felt her skin prickle. A text message from Papa read: _Need to talk._

Before Rita could even respond, a follow-up message arrived: _Urgent._

She stepped away from where Marlene sat engrossed in coloring. Her insides frozen, Rita dialed her grandfather. No sooner had he picked up did she frantically ask, "What's wrong?"

"Your boss."

She could hardly breathe. "What happened?"

"You tell me." Her grandfather sounded a mixture of irritated and concerned. "He collapsed in front of me mid-conversation, but as soon as I tried to help him, he ran off!"

"Wait—what?" Rita pinched her brow. Reeve had _collapsed_?

Before she could ask any further questions, the door handle of the apartment jostled. Swinging open, the door slammed with force against the wall, and Reeve came stumbling in. Hand clutched to his head, he held his other out in front to guide his path and he grimaced in obvious pain. Belatedly, Rita realized he couldn't see where he was going.

"I have to go," she rushed, not bothering to hear Papa's response as she hung up her phone and rushed to Reeve's side. He collapsed to the floor, and unbidden Rita screamed his name. Startled, Marlene scurried over, worry painted on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Rita answered honestly, feeling Reeve's head for fever. Hm—slightly warm but not feverish, not really. Yet he also seemed not entirely conscious—drifting between awake and not. He clutched at his head, and let out the slightest, pained moan. Drawing upon all her strength—carefully honed through training as of late—Rita managed to sling Reeve's limp form over her shoulder and guide him toward his room. Marlene ran ahead, opening the door and rushing to the bed and scrambling on without reserve, pulling back the thick black duvet. Rita deposited Reeve onto the bed, shucking his shoes and loosening his tie in an effort to cool him, though she held little hope it would help.

"Could you watch him while I grab some water?" Rita needn't have asked, for Marlene's lithe form already crouched next to the Director, eyes wide with concern. Rita scrambled, grabbing water, an ice pack, and with some searching through the cabinets, the Director's migraine medication. 

Rushing back, Rita eased Reeve upright and coaxed him into consuming the medicine and a sip of water. Gently laying him back, she placed the ice pack on his head, soft against his brow. His face still twisted in pain.

Marlene crept nearer to Reeve, placing her tiny hand on his chest. "Will he be okay?"

Rita drew a deep, steadying breath. "Yes," her voice sounded far more confident than she felt. "The Director just…overworks himself, sometimes." But she'd never seen him this bad—not that she'd say that aloud to the child.

A ringing buzz emitted from Reeve's jacket pocket. A decade spent together had left Rita quite comfortable accessing Reeve's personal devices; carefully, she pulled out his phone spying the word illuminated on the screen: _Felix._

Why would he be calling right now? Rita almost didn't answer, but doubt lingered in her mind as she lifted the receiver to speak. "Yes, Felix?"

"Ms. Spencer!" If Felix was actually surprised that she answered instead of Reeve, or that she sounded panicked, his voice didn't reveal it. "Boss asked for help grabbing some pizza; got the delivery downstairs."

"Oh. Oh, that's great," Rita had almost forgotten about dinner entirely. "I-I'll be right down. Help yourself to a slice while you wait."

"Mmmh hmmph," Felix's reply sounded as if it came mid-mouthful. Hanging up, Rita looked from Reeve's prone state to Marlene waiting next to him.

"Hey Marlene," she kept her tone as steady and calm as she could manage, "I have to run downstairs real quick. I'll be right back." Rita handed Marlene Reeve's phone, "Do you know how to use one of these?"

Marlene stared at the large shiny rectangle agape, shaking her head. "That's okay, you press this button here," Rita pointed, "and then you press seven-eight-eight-four-three. That unlocks the phone. And once you've unlocked it, you can press the blue button and it will call me." Seeing the girl's still-blank expression, she added, "I'll draw that out, and write out the code." As Rita hustled for a pen and pad of paper, a shiver ran down her spine. There wasn't any other person in the world whose personal phone ID she knew. Not even her grandfather.

No one except Reeve.

Rita returned and handed Marlene her note. The girl seemed pensive, looking from the paper to the phone to Reeve, still unconscious, face now more relaxed than before. With gentle reassurance, Rita placed her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Trust me, he'll be better once he's had some sleep. He always is," Rita said the words aloud just as much for herself as for Marlene. When the girl smiled at her, Rita felt a flood of sunshine fill her.

"I'll help take care of him," Marlene proclaimed proudly.

Rita thanked her and rushed downstairs, hoping all the way she'd not have the misfortune of running into her grandfather just yet. Rita still had no idea what was wrong with Reeve, and she didn't want her grandfather prying into _everything else_.

By the time she made it down to the valet, Felix had polished off two slices of the large pizza Reeve had ordered and licking his fingers, satisfied. "I'm glad you enjoyed your dinner," Rita called out, feeling guilty—why hadn't she come to spend more time with Felix? She had not been a good friend of late.

"Oh, enjoy it I did," Felix laughed back. "And I hope you and the Director enjoy it, too." He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes and fought the heat rising in her face and the anxiety roiling her stomach. "But I wanna know—everything okay?"

"What do you mean?"

And for once, Felix's happy demeanor dropped, a hint of irritation flooding his eyes and voice. "Oh. Y'know. I haven't seen you or the boss in days, and the last time I _did_ see you, you ran off without saying goodbye to chase some random guy." He huffed. "And things are busy, so I don't hold it against you, but it wouldn't kill you to come say hi now and again."

"I know. I'm so sorry." Rita sighed, hiding her face in her hands. "Things have been…complicated."

He didn't say anything at first, nodding his head slowly as he registered her words. "Seems like things have been complicated between you and the Director since we visited Sector 7."

Rita didn't know what to say. Of course Felix had seen her storm back to the car, could probably hear her sobbing even through the partition that divided him from his passengers. She settled on, "You could say that."

He nodded slowly once more, then handed her the pizza box. "You just take care of yourself. And you let me know if you need me to knock any sense into the boss for you!"

Rita snorted to herself. "Don't you know? I actually can do that all by myself now." When his only response was a puzzled look, Rita kicked herself. She hadn't told him about Elena yet. She hadn't the chance. "Right. We _really_ need to catch up sometime." She smiled earnestly before beginning her retreat. "Soon, I promise."

"I'm holding you to that, Spencer!" Felix called after her as she headed back into the lobby.

* * *

Trudging up the through the lobby and into the elevator, Rita resisted the temptation to sneak a bite of pizza early, though the growl in her stomach strongly weighed against that decision. She could be patient, though—the elevator was quick enough.

Or so she thought, until it stopped at the 62nd floor. As the doors opened, Rita's stomach fluttered anxiously at the sight of the next passenger.

"Papa!"

The Mayor looked placid as he strolled into the elevator, but he didn't press any button. Instead, he looked at the illuminated panel of levels, raising one quizzical brow.

"Executive floor? So I take it you're going to Director Tuesti's apartment?"

Rita felt her ears looked pink. "N-no," she stammered quickly, mashing the button for the 63rd floor instead. "I'm just…tired, is all. I didn't realize I pressed the wrong button. Thanks for catching it, Papa."

Button now pressed, the doors began to close and the lift activated once more. Her grandfather's expression, while still seemingly serene, now looked tinged with suspicion.

"Is the Director feeling better, then? He mentioned he was going home for the day."

"That- that's right. That he's feeling better." Rita's stumbling would fool no one, certainly least of all her own grandfather. She needed to bolster the lie. "He _was_ in his apartment, but now he wants me to meet in his office, so _that's_ where I'm going." The elevator pinged.

"I'd love to check up on the Director, myself. And we have a conversation to finish." Mayor Domino stepped into the threshold, blocking both the lift doors and Rita's path. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Perhaps it was her grandfather's presumption, or her hunger, or the lingering stress from the secret she was helping to keep hidden away on the Executive floor, but Rita's anger flared.

"Yes, I _do_ mind," she snapped. "The Director is busy, and we have other things to take care of tonight." Rita forcibly stepped astride him, pushing his arm away. "If you want to speak to the Director, you can schedule an appointment _through me,_ like everyone else."

She stormed off, trying not to think about the shocked expression on her grandfather's face. In her silent rage, Rita swung open the office door harder than she meant. With a crash, it rattled back to her, and she cursed.

"Having a rough night?"

Rita dropped the pizza box as her fists flew into defensive position. From the dark office, sitting on the couch, Elena barked two short laughs.

"Nice reflexes. You must have a great teacher."

"Elena?" Rita flicked on the office lights, then bent to inspect the pizza. Jostled, but just fine, fortunately. She picked up the box and stood, facing Elena but keeping her distance. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to see Reeve," Elena shifted, and for the first time Rita could see her face. She looked worn, tired, brown eyes sinking into dark bags, nose looking pink. Had she been crying? Rita couldn't even imagine it—a Turk, crying. As if. "Though, I suppose _you're_ actually the best person."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's Tseng." Elena's voice sounded flat, almost emotionless. "Something…happened." When Rita didn't respond, Elena continued, "I wasn't sure if Reeve knew about it."

"Reeve hasn't been feeling well. He left early." Her lie was fluid, and bolstered by her confident deceit, Rita took one step forward. "What happened to Tseng?"

Elena took one shaky breath, and Rita realized the Turk teetered on the edge of discomposure. “ _Attacked,_ _”_ she finally whispered. “We were on assignment…but—" her face screwed into the precursor of a sob—"I don't know what _happened._ To—to his body. He just—" she waved her hand wildly through the air—"disappeared. All that was left was a trail of blood. But Rufus wouldn’t let me stay, he ordered me back here and I couldn’t say no and—"

The sounds of Elena's sobs resounded in the office. With each echo, Rita's insides iced further.

"Is that right?" Rita finally drawled. Elena turned to face her, expression tense.

“What?” The Turk snapped. "What's that attitude for?"

Rita thought she'd been angry with her grandfather. But that paled in comparison to the rage she felt towards the Turks.

"Tseng _kidnapped_ a child!" Rita shouted. " _You_ kidnapped a child! How dare you come into this office and try to act all 'chummy' with me, after everything you and Tseng have done."

Elena sat, shocked, gaping for words. "They…they said you didn't know anything," she choked.

"I know a lot more than you give me credit for," Rita huffed. "You've been _using_ me this whole time."

Elena looked away. "It's not like that."

"Oh please." Rita shook her head, turning away from Elena, disgust rising in her throat. "I've heard enough lies the last two days. Spare me anymore." Rita pointed to the door. "You can leave."

"Oh, how _easy_ it is for you office slugs." Elena stood and stomped across the room, fists clenched so hard her knuckles whited. "You turn a blind eye while _we_ do the company's dirty work. But you had noooo problem letting _us_ be the ones to pull the lever on the plate, huh?" She spat, hovering nearer to Rita. Instinctively, Rita took her defensive stance.

"The difference between you and I is that I _don't_ pull the lever at all," Rita rejoined, wishing her throat didn't feel so thick.

"Keep telling yourself that." Elena scoffed, seeing right through her as she made her exit. "At the end of the day," she called, crossing the threshold, "our checks are signed by the same man. Never forget it."

Elena slammed the door behind her, leaving Rita shaking in her wake. Adrenaline coursed through her, hands trembling as she dug her fingers into the cardboard box she somehow still held.

Reeve's office phone rang, a shrill cry that made Rita jump in fright. She looked at the clock on the wall. 7:33 PM—who would even try the Director after hours? Crossing the room, Rita placed the pizza box on the desk while she answered the phone.

"Director Tuesti's office," her voice sounded harsh in her own ears. On the other end, Rita heard hesitation and a stammer.

"I-I'm so sorry to bother," a crisp Kalmland accent trilled over the line, "I don't suppose this is the lass Spencer?"

Rita winced at how angrily she'd answered. "Hello, Mrs. Tuesti!" She tried to infuse herself with a chipper air; how embarrassing, to snap at Reeve's mother in such a way. Rita usually strove to make nothing but the best of impressions whenever she interacted with the older woman. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound so…gruff."

To her credit, Ruvie laughed, and it reminded Rita of the sound of chiming bells. "Nae, lassie, I cannae blame ye, having to work so late. Must I be havin' a few words with my son?" She affected a tone of mock sternness.

"Hardly necessary, Mrs. Tuesti. How can I help you?"

"Well, actually, I _am_ hopin' to have a few words with my son."

"Right, of course," Rita grimaced, embarrassed by her stupidity. "Actually, he's not here right now."

"He's not?" Rita could hear the faintest note of concern in Ruvie's voice. "Something's wrong." It was not a question.

Rita parsed her words with care. "It's nothing to worry about," she spoke slowly. "But Reeve is resting right now."

"He's not feeling well," Ruvie's voice sounded flat with her comprehension of the situation, and under her breath Reeve's mother muttered a Kalmland phrase Rita could have no hope of translating. "Och, not taking care of himself, is he?"

"It's not…" Rita stalled, "…how did you know? To call, I mean."

The sound of bells chimed again, but Rita could hear their undertones of sadness, of neglect. "It's a mother's intuition, dear," Ruvie finally answered after a moment. "Parents can just tell, when something's wrong with their bairns."

Rita thought about her grandfather, blocking her path in the elevator, insisting he join her to Reeve's office. Guilt washed over her once more.

"Of course, Mrs. Tuesti. I'm sorry he can't speak with you right now, but I promise to tell Reeve that you called." After a moment she added, "And I promise I'll make him call you back."

Ruvie's laughter sounded more joyful now. "Aye, that I believe, lassie."

* * *

Rita finally returned to the apartment, pizza having cooled considerably since it's delivery to Felix. She hoped her roommates wouldn't mind that. So she was heartened to see that when she made her way back to Reeve's room, both he and Marlene were awake.

Reeve now sat upright on the headboard, hair mussed and drowsy still, but seemingly in good spirits as he humored Marlene. The girl, for her part, sat stiff in concentration, all attention poured into the act of clumsily painting Reeve's nails a beautiful, shimmering pink.

She couldn't help it; Rita paused in the doorway, allowing herself to admire the sweet scene. But her presence did not go unnoticed—Reeve caught her eye and smiled, bashfully. As soon as Marlene noticed, she cried joyfully, "Pizza!"

"I'm going to get a us few plates." As Rita looked at the nail polish perched precariously on Reeve's nightstand, she added, "and extra napkins."

Later, with her belly full of pizza and a day set at ease in the company of people kinder than Turks, Marlene tired quicker than the night before. Reeve tried valiantly to stand from the bed and help Rita shuffle the girl to sleep, but she waved him off, urging him to rest while she took care of Marlene. When she returned, Rita felt pleased to see he'd mostly heeded her—though he now read from his data pad, he at least remained reclined in bed.

Upon her entry, though, Reeve awkwardly shuffled upright, running a nervous hand through his hair. Rita crossed over and sat next to him on the bed.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Mostly," even as he answered, he winced. Rita reached out to press the back of her timid hand to his forehead.

"You don't feel feverish," she murmured. Lowering her hand, she whispered, "I was worried." She thought for a moment before adding, "And so is your mother."

Reeve stiffed. "You told my mother about me?"

"No, no," she stammered, backtracking. "She called your office; she just said she had a worried feeling. I didn't tell her what happened. Only that you were resting."

Reeve registered her words, gradually slumping backward. Then, after a moment, he gave a weak chortle. "She always did have a knack for knowin' when I was in a bad way," he drawled tiredly, accent slipping.

"Parents are like that."

"Aye," he rubbed his eyes. "And sorry. To worry you."

"You can make it up to me by calling your mother back tomorrow." Then, feeling bold, Rita added, "And you can tell me what happened to Tseng."

Much like before when she spoke of his mother, Reeve froze at her question, eyes wild with surprise. To help soften the blow, she continued, "I ran into Elena in the office."

“So she’s already back.” He inflated with comprehension, taking a long before saying, "Okay. I'll tell you. About Tseng." Reeve clenched his hands in his lap, a nervous habit of his she'd long noticed. As he did, something struck her eye— 

"But first," Rita interrupted him to quickly retreat, grabbing nail polish remover and returning to gesture at his glittery fingers, "let me take care of this while you do."

Reeve frowned. "Do you think Marlene will be upset?"

Rita hesitated, realizing he was perhaps correct. "Maybe a compromise? I could leave a pinky painted?"

He smiled. "That sounds fair. Hopefully the city planners don't notice tomorrow." At his assent she set to work, taking one hand of his into her own and cleaning away the messy polish. "Fortunately the rest of the Executives are still away."

"Do you…" she stalled herself, worried about overstepping, but when her eyes met his he seemed to encourage her with a gentle nod of his head. "Do you know where the other Executives are? And…what they're doing?"

"Yes." He took a deep breath.

And then he began, starting with the day Rufus came to his office with the order to help the Turks by lending them Cait Sith. Meanwhile, the Executives were on a search of their own, following what they believed were solid leads toward the Promised Land. Rita scoffed, and Reeve quirked an eyebrow.

"It's…more complicated than you'd think."

And that's when he told her about Sephiroth.

Rita had heard stories about the man, many from Felix and his time spent fighting alongside various SOLDIER regiments. Seen as a seraph among the simple infantrymen for his remarkable ability to be at just the right place at just the right moment, to his enemies Felix described a man-turned-demon on the battlefield. Rita had always listened to his war stories with rapt attention, and had comforted him with the man learned his hero was reported _killed in action_.

Only…not so, it seemed. "I can't begin to understand the full scope of Hojo's plan," Reeve sneered at the mention of the twisted Executive scientist, "but he’s always intended to use Sephiroth to further the company's goals." After a beat, Reeve continued with a flat, "Or perhaps just his own." He rubbed his face again.

"Anyway…the Turks have been following AVALANCHE," their eyes glanced for a moment but Reeve looked away, the unspoken _as you know_ hanging in the air. "They went to a Temple, and Sephiroth attacked Tseng while he was there."

"Elena said Tseng disappeared."

"…yes."

Rita's eyes narrowed. Reeve didn't look at her now, seemed intently looking away, and she wondered if he knew exactly what had happened to Tseng. But instead of pressing, she asked, "And what happened to Sephiroth?"

"We saw him. AVALANCHE, I mean. But he got away, and so did we, mostly." Reeve winced. "Cait Sith…"

"What?"

"Cait Sith is gone."

Rita blinked, not understanding. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Cait Sith was destroyed."

Rita breath caught in her throat. The ridiculous, charming, dancing doll… "What happened?"

Reeve explained the meticulous design of the ancient temple Sephiroth—and AVALANCHE—had infiltrated. In order to retrieve the temple's treasure, one would need to remain inside the temple as it collapsed upon itself and revealed it's true prized form: the rare black materia, of powerful magical lore. Only Cait Sith’s body could withstand the…retrieval process.

"Could you see everything? As the temple was being destroyed?" Rita couldn't contain her curiosity, but upon Reeve's grimace, regretted she asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's fine," he reassured her with a weak smile. "But yes, I could."

Silence hung heavy. Then—"I'm sorry, Reeve. Cait Sith seemed…" Rita searched for the right word, "special."

He seemed surprised by this. "You think so?"

"Well, yes," she admitted, finishing one hand. "He's certainly a marvel of engineering—to your credit, sir."

He shook his head at her words, but she noticed that his cheeks colored to a dusky pink. She thought for a moment, and then— 

"Wait, if Cait Sith is destroyed, what does that mean for you?" Instinctively, Rita turned toward the door, thinking on the girl who slept in the spare room just steps away. "What will happen to Marlene if you can't follow AVALANCHE anymore?"

Reeve ran the unpolished hand through his hair. "Honestly, with Tseng gone, things are in disarray. Rufus is far north right now." For the first time in days, he smirked at her, and it actually filled his eyes. "I think that Marlene is safe."

"And you’re safe too?"

"And me," he cast his eyes downward. " _For now."_

Rita nodded, swallowing down the questions thick in her throat still, and absently realizing how tightly she clutched his hand. With an apologetic smile she released her grip and finished cleaning his nails, all but his last pinky.

"There," she said with a satisfied sigh. Then she looked back at the door, thinking again of Marlene. "So what should we do with her?"

Reeve sat silent for a minute, then with a drawn out breath, began. "Give me a day or so. I think I can make some arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"There's a woman in the Sector 5 undercity. She was taking care of Marlene before—" he cut off abruptly, but Rita knew what unsaid. _Before Elena took her_. "I think that she's the best person to take Marlene to. But I also think that we should help them get out of the city and beyond Rufus's grasp."

Rita's body felt numb. "Is that safe?"

"Maybe not entirely safe for me." He looked at her, hard glint in her eyes, "But it's what's safest for Marlene. So it's what I'll do."

For the first time in a while, Rita felt like she and Reeve were in exact alignment; planets circling, tethered by gravity and for once near enough to eclipse in _knowing_ the other. Even if, in a moment, they would once again orbit apart, obscuring deep truths from one another.

"Understood, sir."

* * *

Satisfied they had a plan, and that Reeve would not be falling ill again any time soon (just stress, he'd stressed to her), Rita finally retreated to bed. Her mind raced as she turned over the next phase—and frantically searched for some flaw they'd overlooked. But none came to her. Perhaps it was just her tiredness. She could think on it more with a refreshed mind.

In her last moments before drifting off to sleep, she thought back to Biggs walking her back into the building, encouraging her resolve before she entered the maw to come to the rescue of a scared little girl.

" _Hey Rita," he winked before releasing her arm.  
_

_"Welcome to AVALANCHE."_


	6. Secrets and Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After disaster strikes AVALANCHE, Reeve acts on his own plans.

Fire and brimstone engulfed him. The Temple of the Ancients glowed red, then white hot as it imploded unto itself—yet Cait Sith felt warmed not by the blast, but by the earnest look Aerith had given the wee cat before he bid his team goodbye. Even if the rest of them mistrusted him, this flower seller, the lass who would be the last Ancient, believed in the cat—and the man behind the robot, as well.

And he did it! He'd solved the puzzle, and the treasure of the Temple would soon be theirs. He’d _helped._

With agonizing focus, Cait Sith tethered to this happy thought as fur and metal disintegrated and the last remnants of a gold crown crushed inward, unto itself, becoming one with the blistering, black Meteor materia.

* * *

"Finally awake, are yeh?"

Cait Sith the Second adjusted the controls of the helicopter's autopilot before turning back to Tseng, who stirred with weak resolve as he clutched the bloodied bandage at his chest. "Best to stay put, if yeh ask me," the cat called to the Turk.

"What happened?"

"Och, I jes' dragged yeh out of the Temple, before Sephiroth or AVALANCHE came back lookin' for yeh." Cait Sith tapped his foot impatiently. "Now hold still." The cat retrieved a small, glittering emerald orb.

“Keep yours,” Tseng seemed to pour all his resolve into pulling out a different materia. “I have Full-Cure.”

“Well now _tha_ _’s_ the good stuff!” Cait Sith took it and muttered the incantation. As the mako-glow surrounded Tseng and focused its energy to stitch together his wound, the Turk released a relieved sigh.

"Tha's better, right?" Cait Sith patted Tseng's shoulder. "Only just managed to get yeh out, too. It's about ta—" and then the cat fell silent, clutching his head and moaning. "Ooooh, an' there it went."

"What?"

"The temple. It's gone. And so is my first self." Cait Sith shook his head. "Och. That's gonna ring for a while, innit. Poor Reeve, he'll get a nasty kickback, I'm sure," he muttered to himself, mostly oblivious to Tseng's pale, bemused face.

"He has—” Tseng coughed—”more than one of you."

"Ahh, well, y'see…" Cait Sith tail twisted with guilt, knowing that if Reeve weren't currently debilitated by head-splitting pain, he'd curse the cat's carelessness.

"I should have figured. The man prepares." Tseng grunted. "Have any water?" Cait Sith looked through the cockpit to find a single bottle, and uncapped it for the healing man, who drank weakly.

Cait Sith turned his attention back to the copter's controls while he waited for Tseng to finish, finally asking, "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"What yeh said in the temple," Cait Sith whispered, ears dropping in his guilty admission to eavesdropping. "I saw when Sephiroth attacked you. Yeh said that—yeh said that ye shouldn't have followed Rufus. That yeh were wrong, and that Aerith was the one to follow, all along."

The thwumping of the propeller rotations resounded above them, and for a long moment Tseng remained silent. Until, finally— 

"Yes." He coughed again, but his face steeled with resolve. "Yes, I meant every word." The Turk took a deep breath, grimacing in pain and clutching his stabbed chest. "I've followed orders to keep tabs on Ms. Gainsborough all these years. And now I realize all this time, what she was trying to tell me, to teach me…about the planet. About ShinRa…" he trailed off.

"So what will ye do now?"

Tseng looked toward Cait Sith, seemingly shocked.

"Yer gonna go back to Rufus after all this?"

Tseng's face knotted in confusion. "Didn't Rufus send you?"

The cat shook his head. "Nae. Rufus ordered Elena to evacuate. I came as a _favor_."

"Rufus doesn't know you're here." Tseng's eyes alit with understanding. "Doesn't know there's more than one of you."

Cait Sith didn't answer.

"Why did you come for me?"

"Wha, or let you die?" The cat shook his head. "I cannae do that to yeh. Too much history. But yeh didnae answer my question. Yeh goin' back?"

"I don't know," Tseng finally admitted. "I don't know that I can."

"I thought so," Cait Sith flipped his final switches, confirming the autopilot's course. "I'll not be makin' the journey to Junon with yeh, but you should be taken care of when yeh arrive."

"Junon?"

"Let's just say auld friends are waiting."

Comprehension dawned on Tseng's face. "Reeve kept in contact all this time?" He shook his head, amusedly bewildered. "I didn't expect it. The Boss didn't even stay in contact with me."

"What'll ye have me say?" Cait Sith shrugged, readying to open the door. "Reeve has a way with people." That's when Tseng's eyes narrowed in calculation.

"You're…you're staying behind." The Turk sized up the doll, making to speak and stalling several times before finally spitting out, "I have a request. If you don't mind."

"Aye?"

"Follow her. Aerith." Tseng's eyes burned with an intensity Cait Sith was sure even Rufus had never seen before. "I know I don't have any right to ask this favor of you, especially not after…" Tseng trailed off that sentence. "But…will you? Keep her safe?"

"Aye." Cait Sith chortled. "Tha' was already the plan."

* * *

His brain felt on fire. Reeve hissed as he awoke, the pain from Cait Sith's destruction thudding an angry drum in his head. Awash in jumbled sounds and visions, Reeve struggled to refine the neural link to the second Cait Sith. In his haste to send the replacement to save Tseng, he'd neglected to fine tune the doll. As such, the sensory input from this new mindlink overstimulated his already fried senses.

Thusly, with full force Reeve felt the still-smarting sting from AVALANCHE's mistrust of him. It had taken the cat every ounce of persuasion contained in his small frame to convince the group to allow him to remain—that he would _help_ them, feed _them_ information this time, instead of siphoning it away.

And he promised to keep Marlene safe. This had been the most effective bargaining chip. He promised to return the girl to Elmyra, and then find them both a safe place to stay. When the group had seen even Barret assent to this plan, they considered Cait Sith's place among them calcified.

But that didn't mean trust had been regained. Their shaky arrangement trembled under the strain of Aerith's sudden departure. Insistent she go alone to her ancestral home, she'd forged ahead to find the City of the Ancients on her own. Reeve’s stomach sank at the thought—the last fortune Cait Sith had given the flower seller was _unlucky._ They needed to find her, for her own safety.

Further, in the absence of her healing spirit to soothe frayed, betrayed wounds, the group remained hostile toward Reeve and his cat as they urgently sought to catch up. Where Cait Sith had once curled against his teammates in their tent, he now was relegated a lonely corner, shunned even by Vincent, who mostly seemed indifferent to the goings on of, well, everyone.

Reeve, too, felt alone. It wasn't just Cait Sith who'd lost all of his friends' trust. He sat up, slowly, rolling out the stiff knots in his neck. How he'd ever regain Rita's trust again, he didn't know. Not to mention there were still so many things he hadn't told her—about his abilities, or Veld, even he was continuing to work with AVALANCHE. Anger flared in his belly, hot and boiling over at himself. He'd really mucked all this up, hadn't he? Compromising the closest thing he had to friend or _companion_ in this damn city, though he doubted she felt similarly anymore—if she ever had. Rita practically lived with him these past few days, and yet they'd never been further apart.

Reeve looked over to the nightstand and spied a glass of water and two pills for his headache. Tentative, he reached out to grab the water. The glass felt cold—Rita must have stolen in early, maybe even moments ago before he'd awoken, to place it there.

A ray of warm, golden gratitude rose over him. Perhaps he was not so alone, after all.

By the time he'd finished readying, Rita and Marlene had finished breakfast and begun the third day of their routine, starting with reading from the pink book Rita had brought the first night. Marlene frowned when she saw him.

"Your polish!"

Reeve looked down, feeling guilty he'd let Rita convince him to take it off.

"I'm sorry, Marlene. I have some meetings today and it would be a little distracting…" He held up his pinky finger and smiled apologetically, "I hope this is okay?"

Marlene studied the still-polished pinky and nodded with authoritarian satisfaction. As Reeve headed out the door, Rita approached.

"Make sure you call your mother, okay? She's still worried about you." _And so am I_ , her gray eyes seemed to say.

Reeve pushed down the throbbing in his head, the muffled images and sounds of AVALANCHE hacking their way through monster-infested forests, and murmured his promise to her that he would.

By the time his head hit the pillow that evening, brain sizzling with over-stimulation and thoughts of Sector 7's reconstruction and Cait Sith following the trail to find Aerith, Reeve realized he'd broken another promise to Rita.

* * *

Headache not entirely abated, Reeve began the day worried he'd be late to his very first meeting after having overslept—a rare occasion. One made all the more strange by the fact his assistant literally sat next door, but seemed to have not wanted to disturb him, even to tell him to be on time. Of course, he couldn't hold it against her. This entire mess was his fault. 

But when Reeve rushed into his living room, the sight of Rita and Marlene hanging colored-paper chains stalled him. 

"What's this?" 

"Decorations!" Marlene piped excitedly. 

"Oh, that's…great. What's the occasion?"

Rita, who seemed in good spirits, snorted at him. "You really don't know, do you?"

Feeling lost, Reeve scrambled to grab his phone from his pocket, realizing he must have forgotten something else. The date illuminated on his screen—the 31st.

"It's New Year's Eve?" Had he really lost track of the days? Of course, things were a blur as of late, Cait Sith's unrefined link blasting images of AVALANCHE's travels to him at a constant clip as they raced north. But still… "I thought I was going to be late for work." 

Rita laughed outright at him that time, shaking her head with slight exasperation. "And here I was convinced I was doing you a favor by letting you sleep in." 

Reeve rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. In his haste, he hadn't even bothered looking at his calendar, which no doubt Rita would have long kept empty to mark the next two days' worth of festivities—if not for him, then at least for the many employees who rarely got a break working for ShinRa. But losing track of the end of year also meant Reeve was woefully unprepared for any celebrations, as Marlene and Rita's makeshift homemade crafts indicated. Not that he felt festive. 

But as he watched Marlene bounce around his overly-spacious and ill-deserved penthouse, dizzy with the delight of the holiday, he realized how he felt didn't matter. Not one damn.

"You know," he turned to Rita, "I could pick up some more decorations. And maybe some groceries to make ourselves a feast?" Marlene perked at the request, and even Rita smiled. 

"Great idea," she walked to her datapad, fingers tap-tapping a light patter. "Let me make you a list." And Marlene wasted no time rattling off her own array of desired treats and tinsel, while the adults planned a meal from their—albeit limited—array of recipe knowledge. Reeve wondered if Rita also staved off guilty feelings about her kin as she mentioned an old family dish. He couldn't help but notice she'd not taken any of her grandfather's calls of late, had spent most of her time in Reeve's apartment, practically hidden away. Avoiding the Mayor, maybe? Perhaps this was her way of keeping him from asking too many questions about Marlene. 

Reeve sighed. He didn't deserve whatever strange loyalty Rita continued to levy. Rita noticed his soured mood with a questioning look, but he shook her off with a smile and a promise to return quickly.

The trip out gave him little trouble—the office was practically empty, save for the small crews on-duty in case of catastrophe and the guardsmen littering the entrances and choke points. He made a point to bid hello and well-wishes to those he encountered, biting back the guilt he felt at his own station, affording the day off to celebrate. If the guards held it against him, they didn't show it, seeming to enjoy the sincere attentions of Director Tuesti more than that of say, General Heidegger or the Madam Director. 

On the trip back in, however, less nimble now that Reeve traveled saddled with groceries, he encountered a surprising straggler in the office.

Mayor Domino waited for him in the elevator, cool expression on his face.

"Going up?" 

With a timid nod, Reeve shuffled into the lift alongside Rita's grandfather, and wished the Mayor would for once not say a word. Luck abandoned him.

"Having a party, Tuesti?" Domino raised an arch eyebrow as he peeped Reeve's grocery bags. "Can hardly blame you, I suppose. Must be nice to wander about without the other Executives breathing down your neck."

Reeve, not knowing what to say in response, laughed weakly. 

And the Mayor, though genial in expression, did not laugh as well. In fact, his placid smile didn't see to meet his eyes. As the elevator rose to the upper limits, Domino finally spoke. "What I don't understand, Tuesti"—it was the second time, Reeve noticed, the mayor didn't use his title—"is why you need to drag Rita into all of it."

A jolt of panic spread fire through his body, feelings of shame and shock and horror. Had Reeve been wrong? Rita actually had told her grandfather what was going on?

"Wh-what do you mean?" 

"How's an old man supposed to feel, that his only living family is choosing to spend her holiday with her boss?" 

"S-sir, I—" Reeve felt the heat rise in his face, his focus becoming blurring. He grasped for words, but none came to him. 

Instead, a vision came—of aquamarine pools of water and white-carved stone stairways—a dais, and Aerith standing atop it—a man in black falling from above, his glinting katana angled right toward the flower-seller-last-Ancient—Sephiroth, standing behind Aerith's impaled form, holding his bloodied sword and screams—— ** _SCREAMS_** ——Tifa's and Barret's and Yuffie's and Cid's and Cloud's and even Vincent's, and Cait Sith's— 

Reeve also screamed, clutching his head, his vision blinded by brightness, collapsing against the translucent pane in the elevator, dropping to the ground. Images swirled in his mind, his body ragged with every surge of emotion experienced on the end of his unrefined neural link. Cait Sith ran with the group up the dais, toward Aerith's collapsing body, but they were too late—

From above, something else descended—

Reeve's body shook violently. Why? Peeking his eyes open, Domino stood over him, grasping Reeve's shoulders in frantic resolve, genuine concern marring his face. 

The doors of the lift opened. Only the 63rd floor, but it would make do—he couldn't let Rita see him like this. 

"Excuse me." With every ounce of his strength remaining, Reeve pushed Domino aside and limped out the door. 

"Director!" The Mayor called after him in alarm, but Reeve ignored him, rushing to his office and locking the door shut behind him. He collapsed onto his black leather couch, sinking into his mindlink, letting the visions wash over him. JENOVA. There were fighting JENOVA now, that monstrous creature Hojo had been experimenting on. And Reeve could do nothing more than sit immobile while Cait Sith channeled his—their—energy into his magic materia, to buff his teammates in whatever way he could against their fiercest foe yet.

He didn't know how long the battle lasted—from his view, stuck paralyzed on his office couch drained from nearly all his energy, it seemed to end too quickly for Reeve to believe. 

But it was no less unbelievable than the sight of their once-spirited companion, her body cold and still on the dais.

One by one, each member of their group approached Aerith to make one last farewell. As Cait Sith timidly walked forward, Reeve thought on the promises he'd broken, to Aerith and Tseng and Rita and himself. He thought about his missed chance to help Aerith discover who she was—and perhaps understand more about himself and his own mysterious powers, too. 

All that, now nothing more than opportunities lost, ashes scattered on the wind. Again, like with Sector 7, Reeve failed

Alone in his office, Reeve sobbed.

* * *

As soon as Rita spied him entering, she seemed to tell something was wrong. Reeve tried—unsuccessfully—to hide his reddened eyes and hair mussed from holding his head in his hands. Tentative, she approached where he leaned in the apartment threshold, lines of anxiety creasing into her freckled skin.

"Director?" Voice laden with worry, Rita placed a hand on his arm, and Reeve steadied himself to stand upright. Under her gentle guidance he crossed to collapse on the couch. But no words came to him.

Marlene, who had observed the scene from the coffee table where she was constructing more paper chains, peered at Reeve with almost impossible calm, before saying in a small voice, "The flower lady?"

…How could she have known? Reeve hadn't wanted to invest too many hopes and wild thoughts into his unexpected charge, but the past few days spent with Marlene made him begin to question. Her perceptive gaze, the maturity of her demeanor in spite her young age…what was it about this small girl, that seemed so different and yet…so alike?

So alike _him_.

Aerith said she could hear the whispers of the planet. Reeve could manipulate machinery into coming to life. That Marlene Wallace would have some sort of special ability to commune with and hear spirits? No so far-fetched, he supposed, given everything he and Cait Sith had seen thus far.

Reeve swallowed his sorrow and answered in a raspy voice, "Yes."

And as if hearing _his_ confirmation her instincts were correct, the girl's eyes cast downward, glistening with tears. Wordlessly, Rita fetched two glasses of water as Reeve pulled from his pocket a flowered handkerchief—sewn with love by his mother—to offer the sniffling Marlene. The girl cried quietly into the kerchief for a few moments, then wiped her face and drank the water.

After a few moments, she turned back to the strips of paper she and Rita had cut and colored with different markers. Marlene grabbed one of the slips and a marker.

"I'm going to make a pink one for her."

Reeve managed a weak smile, glancing down at his finger. "That's a great idea."

Spurred by Marlene's cue, Rita gathered the small bag of decorations Reeve had purchased. They decorated mostly in silence, with Marlene attaching the pink paper chain to link all the others together. They hung it above the mantle, a focal point in the room. Marlene continued her coloring in quiet contemplation as the Reeve and Rita retreated to the kitchen.

She'd not yet asked any questions, and it seemed she would not either, not yet. Instead, they worked with their usual efficiency, cooperative and seamless as they prepared the day's meal. As they danced around the kitchen, Rita seemed to regard Reeve with more tenderness than she had in the past week.

Perhaps the lassie's sentiments were borne of pity. But he'd take it anyway.

So went their holiday, somber yet reverent, almost… _domestic_ , dare Reeve apply any such word to a situation between himself, his _assistant_ , and a girl he technically helped kidnap. Midway through dinner, Reeve paused.

"Marlene, do you remember Aerith's mother?"

Her brown eyes brightened. "Elmyra!"

"Right." He hadn't actually known the woman's name, a fact he felt guilty for. "Well, tomorrow, we're going to take you back to stay with her."

Both Rita and Marlene looked surprised. "Is Daddy there?"

A cold gale swept through him. "Oh, Marlene, I'm sorry…"

Marlene's hopeful gaze drooped, but she steadied herself. "But I still get to go back to the place with the flowers?"

"Actually, you and Elmyra are going to take a trip. Somewhere safe, where those people in suits can't find you."

Rita's jaw now hung agape, but Marlene, in her delight, neglected to notice. Instead she clapped happily, shoveling down her food with glee. Across the table, Rita met Reeve's gaze, question alit in her eyes.

He wasn't sure how much to tell, all told. He'd contacted Veld as soon as he'd seen the extent of Tseng's injuries, hoping his former mentor would heed the call. But the former Turk had come through, at least for the first part of Reeve's plan.

He'd need Rita's help for the second. They'd just need to get the wee lass settled into bed for the evening before doing so.

_Later_ , he mouthed to her.

* * *

No sooner had they settled Marlene down did Rita pounce to ask him. But it wasn't the question he expected. 

"Who was she?" 

Reeve sighed heavily as they both sank onto the couch. "Someone ShinRa's been chasing for a long time." 

Rita folded her arms across her chest, skeptical. "But it's more than that." 

"She...was kind. And funny, and bright. And..." He was struggling to convey this correctly. "She was the last Ancient." 

At this, Rita's eyes widened with surprise. "That's...wow." Rita didn't look at him, instead focusing her gaze on the pink chain hoisted above the mantle. "Sounds like someone special." 

"I'd never even met her in person, actually," Reeve admitted. "Only Cait Sith ever had the pleasure." At this, Rita turned, her expression unreadable. 

Then she asked, "They were friends?" 

"I—" truth be told he wasn't sure, but, "I'd like to think so." 

And for the first time in days, Rita smiled because of something _he_ had done, rather than Marlene. "That cat _was_ pretty friendly." 

"Aye," Reeve rubbed the back of his neck, "I really need to modify that impulse." 

Rita looked confused. "Why?" 

For a moment he felt at a loss for words. The deeper question wasn't why he'd modified Cait Sith's impulse for friendships, but why he tampered down so fiercely on his _own_. 

Too many secrets, all told. 

Instead of saying this, Reeve answered, "One's not a very effective spy if one wants to be friends with the target." 

He felt nervous to admit this, worried about any disappointment she'd radiate, but instead Rita laughed. "Who thought it would be a good idea to send a _robot cat_ in a _cape_ to be a spy anyway? That's not discrete at all!" And her amusement effused so genuinely that Reeve laughed too as she continued, "Not that it worked anyway, if Cait Sith became friends with...this woman. I'm sorry," Rita frowned, the mood breaking, "I don't actually know her name." 

"Aerith." Reeve cleared his throat. "Aerith Gainsborough. And she was the easiest to be friends with, of the group. She was always the kindest and most open with Cait Sith even though," his eyes darted away from Rita, "even though she knew who I worked for. But she knew we shared the same goals for the planet, for its people. I wanted to ask her so many things. I have so many questions." 

Rita finally looked at him. "I can relate." 

Guilt burned within him. This woman had worked by his side for nearly a decade, and spent the past several weeks through personal and professional hell having to clean up his messes. Rita deserved to know what was going on. And so, Reeve made a choice. 

"I sent another doll. A second Cait Sith. I sent him to find Tseng." 

Rita's eyes widened with understanding. " _You_ took him away from the scene. Elena said—but where—" 

"I asked him what he wanted." The lump in Reeve's throat felt hard. Turks _hated_ when theirs were the secrets that were spilled. But this was the only way, the penance due. "And he wanted out." 

He watched as Rita registered his words, first with blank confusion, then growing shock, her jaw dropping. No one just _got out_ of ShinRa. "But how?" 

"I have a contact. An old friend, who was able to get him somewhere safe without Rufus knowing." 

Rita studied him, as if weighing which question she wanted to ask. "So, is the second Cait Sith with Tseng?" 

"Ah, no." This was it. The moment of truth. "I sent him back to AVALANCHE." 

Rita stiffened. "To watch them?" 

"To help them." She didn't say anything in response. In fact, she didn't seem to move, her face stamped into a blank, analytical stare. He worried what she thought. "I didn't tell Rufus." Now this provoked a response, a flare of her nostrils, the intake of sharp, _distressed_ breath. When she finally broke the silence, her voice barely rose above a whisper. 

"What's your plan?" 

"Rufus doesn't know I sent a back-up doll. And the Turks have been sending me updates about all the Executives' movements." 

"So you're a double-spy." Reeve worried for a moment that Rita felt angry, but then he spied the smile sneaking into the corners of her mouth. But then they evened out. "I didn't know you had a second Cait Sith." 

"I know. And Rita," he faced her squarely, "I am _sorry_. I'm sorry for putting you in the middle of any of this, and I'm so sorry for keeping the truth from you. I didn't think any of it would turn out like..." Reeve searched in vain for the right word, floundering until finishing with a limp, " _this_." 

Rita's eyes swept from him, back to the pink paper chain above the mantle, down to his polished pinky finger. "I know you didn't." 

"I'm sorry. I know you have no reason to ever trust me again but—" 

"What will happen now?" Rita cut him off. "Being sorry is one thing, but what does this mean? You're working against the company. How long do you think this will last? And what—" her voice hitched, for the briefest second—"where do I fit in, in all this?" 

Her lip seemed to tremble, and he knew unasked in her question was her fear, not just for herself. Timidly, Reeve took her hand. She didn't resist. 

"If everything goes to plan, they won't ever know. With Tseng gone, they are much more disorganized than they realize." Though Reeve was sure Rufus knew, felt concerned about this prospect, even. But the President would let nothing stop him now. "Without Tseng, and with Cait Sith supposedly gone, Rufus isn't going to be paying me any mind. He'll keep me here in Midgar to run his reactors." _Just like his father before him_. "As long as Rufus believes that's happening, you and I should be just fine." _I hope._

Rita didn’t look convinced, though she neither withdrew her hand from his in protest. "And what is your plan for Marlene?" 

"My friend. He's securing a safehouse in Kalm. I just need to figure out how to transport them there." 

"Your...friend." Rita rolled the word around in her mouth before pinning Reeve with an inquisitive gaze. "Veld?" 

"How'd you—" Reeve stopped himself, realization dawning on him. "Ah. Elena." He should have known; she'd not earned a reputation for discretion in all her encounters with AVALANCHE. Reeve felt curious to know what other information the Turk may have inadvertently slipped to his assiduous secretary.

She didn't let him ask. "You said you're looking for transportation—what are you thinking?" 

"Well, that's just the thing," he ran an agitated hand through his hair. "With the other Executives out, we have some room to maneuver. I can disable the tracker in a company helicopter, but we'll need someone to go with Marlene and the pilot." Reeve trusted Felix to not ask too many questions. "I may need you to cover for my absence." 

"Hm," Rita registered this litany of sedition with the same scrutiny she applied to any of his budget reports. "I'm not sure that's a tenable plan. But," she pressed her finger to chin, "I think I have an alternative." 

"Oh?" 

Now Rita looked guilty as she darted her gaze from him, steadying her focus once more on the pink paper chain. "Barret Wallace. I found one of his contacts. Living in the undercity." Reeve's jaw fell agape. "It's a long story," her voice sounded harried as she hurried through her explanation, "but I know he cares about Marlene. And I think he'd be willing to help, if he knew it meant getting her to safety." Rita added with a contrite expression, "I promised him I wouldn't let anything happen to her." 

Questions swirled through his mind. How on Gaia had Rita found such a man—and when? But even more, how long had she known? Ice pooled in his stomach, doubt and insecurity gnawing at him. This whole time, she'd been working to protect Marlene in secret collaboration with another person? So she hadn't stayed out of undying loyalty or trust for _him_ at all. The icy fear spread into his arms and legs, making his fingers tingle with pinpricks. 

As if reading his mind, Rita rushed to add, "I'm sorry for not being honest with you." 

"Well," Reeve hoped his chuckle sounded at least halfway more heartfelt than it felt to him, "I can hardly fault you." 

"No." Rita shook her head. "This just makes us even." 

They'd arrived at a strange equilibrium, teetering on the brink between trust and disloyalty. Reeve thought on Tseng's half-dying regrets about Rufus, the ice freezing over his insides, and came to a decision. 

"No more secrets." Even as he said it, he winced knowing that so broad a promise was bound to be broken. "About what's going on with AVALANCHE. I won't keep that from you anymore." The addendum alleviated his guilt about remaining silent about his Inspire abilities. One thing at time. 

Rita sat silent for a long moment, and it was only then Reeve realize he still held her hand. He squeezed, and the ice in his fingers thawed a fraction when she returned the favor. 

"Sounds like a pretty big New Year's Resolution." She met his eyes. "I'll be sure to hold you to it." 

* * *

The next morning they set the plan in motion. First thing, Rita scootered to Sector 5, where she hoped to connect with her contact. Reeve and Marlene, meanwhile, roped in Felix's assistance. 

"A joyride, eh?" The burly man saw right through Reeve's ruse to requisition a company helicopter. "I suppose for this one," Felix playfully motioned to Marlene—making a fair effort to dial up her pleading pout—before conceding. Reeve thanked the man, for both his support and the discrete manner Felix looked away from Reeve as he attacked the helicopter's tracking device. 

Only once in the air, with Marlene fully strapped in and staring in delightful awe out the window, did Reeve mutter under his breath the true purpose of their ride. Felix kept his trained eyes ahead, face not revealing any distress from Reeve's news. 

Finally, he asked, "Does Rita know?" This surprised Reeve, who in his shocked stammered affirmatively. But his answer seemed to put Felix at ease. "If Rita's in, then I'm in," the man proudly declared, navigating toward the address Reeve had provided. 

As they approached their landing, Felix whistled. Reeve had heard the Gainsboroughs lived in a slum house somehow surrounded by a field of flowers, in spite of the barren land surrounding Midgar due to the mako reactors. _Field_ may have been too much—more akin to a meadow, carpeted with flowers of many hues, but dominated primarily by a beautiful white-and-yellow lily. Reeve didn't see any sign of Rita yet. This worried him. Taking care to not disturb the landscape, Felix landed away from the house. They would walk the remainder of the way, so the meadow would remain undisturbed. 

The tenant inside the house, however, seemed _quite_ disturbed by their arrival, swinging open the door and marching out with clenched fists. Elmyra Gainsborough raged toward them but then stalled, her step hitching at a sight just slightly behind Reeve. Then he heard her call, "Marlene!" 

The girl broke out into a full run, charging into the elder woman's outstretched arms. They clutched to each other tightly, as if they'd been together their whole lives—and not met just days ago, when Elmyra's daughter dropped Marlene off to save her from being crushed under the Sector 7 plate. From behind him, Reeve heard Felix sniffle. 

Elmyra turned back to Reeve, still wary and yet far more welcoming than before. In supplication, Reeve outstretched his hands. 

"I promise, I don't mean any harm. And no one else from ShinRa knows we're here." 

At this, Elmyra's expression transformed to wonder. "Well, if that's the case, let me put on some tea." 

She ushered them inside, doting on Marlene and patiently listening to the girl and she showed off her new trinkets, the books and nail polish and Lil' Stamp toothbrush while she set her kettle going. They crowded, the four of them, around Elmyra's small kitchen table, as Marlene chattered excitedly. But as she arrived to her crescendo, about to describe her New Year's Eve, the light in her eyes dimmed, the ghost of a memory wisping across her face. Her wide eyes turned to Reeve. 

It was time. 

Sensitive to the private and often unfortunate nature of his boss's job, Felix wordlessly stood to insist he 'check on the helicopter', and thanked Elmyra for the tea before hurrying out. Reeve's gaze followed the man, and when he looked back, he saw Elmyra staring hard at him, face stone-like. Preparing for the worst. 

He felt a shudder along his mindlink. Even Cait Sith envied his task. 

"Mrs. Gainsborough," Reeve began in a rasp, tongue parched, throat burning, "There's something you should know. About your daughter..." 

In the end, he felt glad Marlene had stayed. She soothed the woman in her grief, holding to her tightly as they both cried for their loss. Reeve mused that Marlene's presence also spared him the sharpest of Elmyra's invective against ShinRa, against those she held responsible for her daughter's demise. 

"Those damn suits," she muttered through salty tears. "If they hadn't taken her..." 

But Elmyra did pin him with a fierce gaze. "And you?" She seemed both angry and confused. "Why are you doing this?" 

Anything would sound trite now, he knew. But he answered as simply as he could. "I'm just trying to do what's right. All I want is to help Aerith's friends. And you." 

"Help how?" 

Reeve shifted forward in his seat. "Well. Here's the plan." 

* * *

In the end, Elmyra had been easy to convince. She had relatives in Kalm; it was a place she enjoyed. The prospect of having a safe—and secret—abode away from ShinRa and Midgar seemed almost too good a deal to be true. She wasted little time in gathering the supplies she'd need to make the trip. 

The three of them wiped their tears before bounding out to the helicopter, where Felix waited with two other figures in the distance. Rita. And a man Reeve did not know. Whomever he was, Rita seemed to have already made the introduction to Felix, the two chatting animatedly. 

This...boded well. Even more so when Marlene shrieked joyously upon recognizing the stranger. 

"Biggs!" 

"Hey, kiddo!" The man warmly greeted the child clamoring up his arms, pulling her into a hug. "I'm so glad you're safe." 

They helped Elmyra and Marlene load into the helicopter, with Biggs taking a seat next to the girl as she animatedly began regaling him with story of her trials. Before they closed the doors, Biggs looked up at Rita and smiled. 

Reeve felt a strange gnawing in his stomach, his throat constricting. Elmyra turned one last time to look at him, lips tight and unmoving until finally she mouthed in crisp fashion _Thank you_. She'd not forgiven him—she made that clear enough, in the house. She'd never forgive him until it was _all_ over, she said, until ShinRa no longer had the power they did. He found that too generous an offer. He wasn't sure anything would ever justify his complicity in all of ShinRa's wrongs, whether the company continued or not. 

Rita waved good-bye, and together they watched the chopper rise higher and higher into the sky, until fading out into the horizon. Then, in somber silence, they turned and headed toward the slums. Rita guided them, stepping surefooted over hazards and weaving through the crowd with surprising ease. 

He couldn't keep himself from talking. "You look like you've done this before." 

Rita looked back at him, brow furrowed, before saying, "I spent all of last week roaming the undercity while I was looking for information on Cait Sith." 

_That_ answer, Reeve hadn't expected. "Oh." 

She snorted, shaking her head. "I felt so curious. I wondered why I would see something like that." She looked him square in the eye. "Where did you get the inspiration anyway, to use that doll as a spy? He's so..." She stalled, her head bobbing around as she searched for the perfect word, "attention-grabbing." 

Reeve laughed. "That's certainly true. But he wasn't a spy, not at first," Reeve admitted. "He was just a hobby. A figurine that reminded me of home, somethin' I tinkered with in my spare time. He had personality"—that was _technically_ true—"and he was playful in ways I couldn't be." Rita's expression softened at this, seemingly smiling at her memories of the cat. "And then one day his intelligence—ah, outstripped my expectations." Rita seemed even more amused by this. "But he wasn't meant to be a spy. He just happens to enjoy lurking more than he should. It was an accident that Tseng discovered him. But that man doesn't waste any opportunity to leverage what he knows about you." 

"Yes, I realize," her voice sounded cool, and Reeve winced and his haphazard statement. 

Finally, they arrived on upper-plate, finding where Rita had parked her scooter. From her saddle box she pulled two helmets, handing one to him. 

He hesitated. "Never ridden by scooter before." 

Rita smirked, though he couldn't tell if it reached her eyes as she put on her helmet. "There's a first time for everything, I hear." She mounted. 

Reeve looked down the street to place their location. He recognized this avenue. It was so near...he really didn't have any excuse, to just let Rita drive him away. 

"I have a favor to ask." 

Rita looked at him behind thickset, teal-tinged glasses, and he could tell she looked skeptical. 

"Could we swing by that street?" He pointed down the avenue. "I would like to visit my mother." 

At this, Rita's expression brightened with shock and pleasure. 

"Of course. Hop on, sir." 

Ruvie had been just as shocked by their arrival as Rita had been by his suggesting it. But she beamed, pulling Reeve into a full-bodied hug, and then wasting no time in doing the same with Rita. Emphatically she ushered them inside, plying them with tea and scones and every now and then fighting back a teary smile while saying, "I'm so cheered to see yeh, laddie." 

So overwhelmed did Reeve feel at first that he failed to notice in the corner, a stranger. Sitting silent, and small. A boy. 

"Hullo," he waved tentatively to the child, a few years older than Marlene it seemed. Ruvie chimed in.

"That's Denzel. He's been staying with me." 

"Oh?" 

"That's right, he's been wonderful company," his mother effused loudly for the boy, who was chomping on a scone contentedly, to hear, before she lowered her voice. "He lost his parents in that horrible plate accident." 

From across the table, Reeve saw that Rita blanched. Reeve maintained his composure better, or at least, well enough to ask, "So you've taken him in?" 

"Aye." Then after a beat, she added, "It's nice to have company." Spying Reeve's expression, Ruvie threw her hands up in the air. "I wasn't tryin' ta guilt, jes' making a statement." She made to stand and clear the table, and Reeve stood too. 

"Here, Ma, lemme help." 

As they headed to the kitchen, Rita began to engage Denzel, who shyly answered her questions. "Accidentally kicked a ball through the window—scared both of us to death, the dear," Ruvie explained she washed and Reeve dried the dishes. "Couldn' jes' let him roam the streets, on his lonesome." 

"No, of course not." He folded his mother into a hug. "I love you, Ma." 

"Och,” she patted his arm, “I'm so glad you're here, Reevie." 

* * *

By the time they finally left, dusk was settling, and their bellies felt full with the warm New Year's meal Ruvie had insisted they pack up for leftovers (and which Rita lovingly secured in her scooter's saddle box). Riding back towards Sector 0, Reeve felt greater notice of the ease with which Rita slid in and out of Midgar's traffic. She'd mentioned the scooter before, but he'd never actually taken the time to imagine what her life was like, hurrying to Headquarters in response to one catastrophe after another. 

And here he was now, holding tight to her. Suddenly, almost irrationally worried by how he held his assistant, and he loosened his grip, only to find one his hands violently jerked back, and hear her voice call over the wind, "Director! _Don't_ let go on the _highway_!" Feeling stupid and overly warm, wrapped his arms around her once more. 

When they arrived to headquarters, she surprised Reeve, not dropping him near the valet, but instead parking in the employee lot. "You're coming in? You can't possibly be working right now, Ms. Spencer." 

As she pulled her helmet and gloves off, she looked pensive. "Truthfully, I don't want to go home and be alone right now." 

"Oh." He felt at a loss for words, and then registered a thought. "Going in to see your grandfather?" 

Rita cast her eyes downward, frowning. "Actually, no. I wasn't thinking to." 

He felt a pang, a mixture of guilt swirling with overwhelming compassion. This woman had sacrificed her holiday while silently enduring her tribulations—ones he felt responsible for. 

Tentatively, he reached out to grasp her hand, pulling her toward the building with a ginger tug. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs. I have a bottle of bubbly that's overdue from last night." He winced. Perhaps that would send the entirely wrong message, but she squeezed his hand, face relaxing into a relieved sigh as they headed in. 

"I could use a drink." 

They'd sipped in silence at first, munching on his Ma’s leftovers and melting into the couch in their mutual emotional exhaustion, trying not to look at the pink decoration hanging above them. Only when she'd nearly drained her glass, and Reeve made to pour her another, did Rita break the silence. 

“What else do you know about AVALANCHE?”

He turned to her, startled. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t look at him. “It’s just…before, they bombed the reactors and hurt a lot of people. And of course, so did _we_ …” she sipped before continuing, “as ShinRa, I mean. But you’re choosing AVALANCHE over Rufus now. Why?”

Reeve thought back to the conversation shared between Cait Sith and Tseng. “Because I finally see now. What they’re trying to do, and why.” Reeve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Rufus…when all is said and done, he wants to rescue the planet to rule it. And they…they just want to be free.”

After a long stretch of quiet, Rita finally asked, "Then why did you save Tseng?" 

He nearly spilled his drink in his surprise. "What do you mean?" 

"After everything he did to you. To us, and Marlene. You said you sent Cait Sith to save him. Why?" 

Was it bitterness he detected in her tone? Wariness and mistrust still? 

"I've known Tseng for a long time. Knew the man who trained him, too." He sighed deeply. "I don't think either are bad men. At least, they don't want to be. Tseng wasn't always like how he is now, you know." Reeve thought back to the days when Tseng, shorter-haired and less-haggard, when he believed that, if he couldn't be a force of good in the world, he certainly at least would not be one for evil. Reeve reflected on the promise Cait Sith made. "I couldn't just let him die. I knew I could save him, and I did." 

He sighed deeply. If only he had been as decisive before the plate drop. He shook away that thought. "But I’ll admit, I knew that I needed Tseng out of play, in order to get out myself." 

She studied him. “I understand.” Then, after a long moment, she admitted, "I'm still so angry with him. And Elena. For how they used me." She sipped. "I don't know that I can forgive them."

"That's understandable. But Rita," he turned to her more forcefully than needed, wine sloshing in his glass. "You have to be careful around them. Even if you're upset with Elena, she _can't_ know you know anything more. And she certainly can't know about any of this." He gestured aimlessly. “Or Cait Sith and AVALANCHE.”

"You don't need to worry, Reeve." She sipped again, slumping against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "Your secrets are safe with me." 


End file.
